We all have some stories to tell, I'm sure. Here's mine. Yesterday I auditioned for a small orchestra about 3 hours soputh of where I am now. Sunds far, but in the boonies where I live (if you made a map of nopwhere and put an x in the center you wouold find us), it is one of the closest. I arrived about an hour and a half early. So, I stopped at the grocery store and hit the salad bar for lunch, borught it to a nearby park, ate, and still had time to take a short hike in the woods on one of the well-groomed trails before I had to be at the appointed place. Nice opportunity to gather my thoughts and maybe have a visualization for Pines of Rome, and a "quiet spot" for calming nerves. On the way out, I was listening to birds, smelling the wonderful smells, when a new and rather unpleasent smell mixed into my olifactory experience. Coupled with a squish, I suspected immediately what had happened. A quick lift off the foot for examination revealed and confirmed the truth: yes, there on the bottom of my shoe were the remains of the by-product of canine ingestion. Not 20 minutes before I wanted to be there for the audition for principal trumpet, I was scraping Fido's excrement from the bottom of my shoe. There is a moral here; undeniable, humorous, and very real. It will "stick" with me, and keep me reminded of humanness whenever I lose track and don't pay attention to it. I did not, by the way, win the job. Not because I "stunk" or played like "s]p[it"; I can pinpoint the split second occurance that cost me the audition. I simply stepped in doggy-doo, and now must wipe it off and continue.