Mount Frissell
Connecticut
May 2014
Continuing, we are not even a quarter of a mile in on our summit hike and already we have encountered a number of dogs, a preponderance of dogs, one might say. A pack of dogs. If they were emus, I would have to say a mob of emus. Or eagles, as sometimes happens, a convocation of eagles. Everybody knows it’s a murder of crows, and when playing Scrabble, I swear that a group of cows can be called a flink, but I’ve gotten some pushback on that one. Did you know that you could face a flamboyance of flamingoes?
A scold of jays? A stare of owls? A shiver of sharks?
A pitying of turtle doves? A gulp of swallows? A zeal, crossing or dazzle of zebras?
These are all real.
You might begin to doubt my word though when I tell you about a nag of wives, a jerk of husbands, a giggle of teenage girls and a punk of teenage boys. A warmth of friends. In the interest of my credibility, I tell you that these family names are not real.
Well, maybe…
A trudge of hikers.
