It was beautiful yesterday, one of the nearly perfect spring days with which New England is occasionally gifted. Spring isn’t our best — or even second-best — season.
It’s usually very short, often going from winter to summer in just a day or two. Sometimes, you barely have time to buy a pair of shorts when yesterday’s 40 degrees turns to ninety or more, with humidity to match.
We are having a reasonably good spring this year. There have been a few setbacks. The couple of early snows in April did some damage to the blooming daffodils, but I hope not permanent damage. The flowering trees are showing young leaves. Here, in our woods and along the rivers and canal, the trees are in bud, but not leaf. Hardwood — oaks and maples, sassafras, ash and others — are the last to fill out. Mid May, usually, though the maples may be a week earlier this year. Our trees are mostly bare.
The forsythia is flowering. The lilacs are full of leaves, but no flowers yet.
Soon. It’s lovely today. Warm and sunny and delicious. The earth is awake and everything is greening up.
I read an article the other day. It announced (with great solemnity and employing many big words and more than a few pie charts) that dogs — our dogs, your dogs, pet dogs — don’t like being hugged. Not merely do they not like being hugged and display measurable levels of stress when hugged, but they really totally hate being kissed and nuzzled.
The article suggest a pat on the head … and a treat … would be much more appreciated.
Not by Garry or me.
I know they don’t like being hugged. It’s obvious. They stiffen and put their ears back when we hug them. They also don’t like it when I grab their tail and refuse to let it go. That’s what all the growling and head butting is about. You can almost hear them sigh, wondering when you’ll be through with this nonsense and get on to the important stuff, namely distributing cookies.
I told Garry about the study. He said: “Tough. They’ll just have to cope. Because I like it.”
My thoughts exactly.
Our dogs are disrespectful. Messy. Flagrantly disobedient. They are masters and mistresses of selective hearing. Do I believe for a single moment when we tell them to go out and they stand there, in front of the doggy door, ignoring us, that it’s because they (a) don’t understand what we want from them, or (b) cannot hear us? That if I stand in the doorway calling them to come in that they can’t hear me or figure out that I want them to come inside? Of COURSE they hear me. They know. They’re just playing us.
If they can hear the click when we remove the top of the biscuit container from the other end of the yard, they hear us just fine. It’s a power play.
Since they persist in disrespecting us, they will have to deal with our periodic compulsion to give them hugs, nuzzling, and the occasional (“Yuck! Stop that you stupid human!”) kiss on their big moist noses. It’s the price they pay for sofa lounging, high-quality treats and silly humans getting down on the floor to play with them.
We put up with them? They will have to put up with us, too. That’s our deal.
It’s a Human v Canine Covenant. I’ve got their paw prints on file.
When writing by hand do you prefer to use a pencil or pen?
A pen. Rolling ball tip, please. Medium, not fine or fat. Black ink.
Credit: CC0 Public Domain from pixabay
While we are on the subject of pens: Please! If the pen is out of ink, don’t put it back in the jar. Throw it away.
Your coöperation is appreciated.
What’s your choice: jigsaw, word, maze or numeric puzzles?
Do you prefer long hair or short hair for yourself?
I prefer long hair, but my hair prefers being kind of medium.
My hair has won this argument.
List five some of your favorite blogs.
I am taking the fifth on this one. I like a lot of blogs and bloggers. Some of my favorite bloggers are also good friends and there are more than five. No matter who I named, I would inevitably omit someone out and feel terrible about it. So …