Clover looks up at me with button eyes from her self-assigned spot under the desk, sighs and lays her head back down. Life here in our post-winter where-the-heck- is-spring life is so tedious that even the dogs are bored – when they are inside, that is.
We have seen the grass twice since the first week of December, and I am actually excited about freezing rain starting this evening because that may melt the old gray snow. Now, I am not complaining (well, I kind of am) about the snow on the ground because it certainly has its advantages. Mine is the home to Clover and Bing, both one year olds who have not gotten the memo that after their birthdays, they are no longer puppies. So, that means, I have a combined weight of 99 pounds of puppy energy rolling and romping in the yard.
Chase was a game for amateurs before Clover and Bing came along to refine the art. We have a bell hanging from the front door that Clover uses as her mouthpiece. She is only in the house for about 10 minutes when something clicks in her mind that she forgot to do outside. The bell starts to ring. When I give a kind and caring response like “you don’t need to go outside,” she bangs on that daggone jumbo-sized jingle bell until the last one even fell out of its casing. The first thing I hear when I step out of the shower in the mornings is Clover banging on that bell because it has been 15 minutes since she last tended to her duties of overseeing the yard.
Honestly, as I wrote the last sentence, she rang the bell, watched me roll my eyes, and came back under the desk to lie down. She now knows the cues when I am not budging.
But, back to the snow. OK, maybe I am starting to feel a little weary from the dad-blasted white crap everywhere, but it is nice when the pups come charging at the house at full tilt, to open the door and not give a flying hoot what drags in with them. I learned early on that snow melts invisibly and mud – which will surface when all this lovely, glistening, pristine crud melts – sours my pleasant demeanor.
When I lean out the front door into below 20 temperatures to call them in, I like to see my little darlings perk their ears in alert admiration and willingness to immediately obey. That really only happens when the summons includes the word “treat.” Usually, they are involved in a very intricate and complicated game of “run around the pine trees” when I call them. They know and diligently follow the very detailed and precise rules to this game.
When I open the door just because I love the feeling of frigid wind smacking me in the face and call for them, they stop immediately in their tracks, look at me, and then look at each other. They freeze – and by that, I mean figuratively, as I am the one freezing with the door open with dry snow blowing in my face – give the other a concentrated stare, wait until the other gives in first – which can take a while, until my pitch raises enough to pull them out of the trance, then at the exact moment, they bolt for the front door in an all-out foot race. I just hold the door open and allow the thunderous herd to plow into the house full battery with the declared winner of that round spinning in a circle on the tile.
So, with that description that plays itself out four hundred times in the course of my day, I am not ready for the mud that the spring thaw brings, but we are bored and would like warmer temperatures to lure me outside to enjoy the sunshine with these silly girls. March 1, I looked at the temperature first thing in the morning – 18 degrees. I call that coming in like a lion. So, come on crocuses get ready, I know the thaw will come.
No comments:
Post a Comment