Dogs
in Spring
“Dogs
are better than human beings because they know but do not tell.”
Emily
Dickenson
Liza
has entered her pollen-bearing season. She goes into the back yard a
small, low-slung, black dog and returns a greenish, mobile plant
carrier. I stop her on the stairs and pull two handfuls of oak
flowers out of her foot feathers and undercarriage. Even so, my house is a veritable
garden of pollen. Thank goodness for the rain last night that washed some of it down drains and into soil. We allergy sufferers do
not need another week of pollen counts in the thousands.
My
friends, Ann and Ellen, have a white, standard poodle named Ace, who is a
total fool. He's a one time learner and big enough to command the
room when he decides its his turn to shine. I am just the right size
for Ace to walk up and hang his big, shaggy head in my hand as it
hangs by my side. That head usually has a slobbery tennis ball in it.
He remembers at some time in the distant past I threw the ball for
him, and never gives up hope that I will remember, too.
Liza's
friend and co-conspirator, Giblet, comes once a week or so for a play
date. They get into trouble together—turning over trash baskets and
strewing the contents around the house. It seems to be their
identified favorite game. When I scold them for it, they smile and
give each other “hee-hee” looks.
Soon
it will be too hot outside to walk Liza. Given her position three inches off the
pavement, that's like putting her in the oven for an hour. She doesn't much like walking anyway, preferring instead to lie on the sofa and
eat bonbons all day. It's that darn harness she finds so
constricting—she'd rather have a feather boa.
If
you ever want to learn how to live well, get a dog. They play. Liza
loves her toys—one now-gutless duck, a squeaky fox and a fancy
striped bird that's as big as she. She runs madly through the house
with them, gathers them to her bed at night and tucks them in. They
eat heartily. Liza sometimes takes half an hour with her bowl and
has trained her sou-chef to put potatoes and pasta and veges in with
that dreaded dog food. Dogs love unconditionally and always. They
rise each morning with enthusiasm for the day and all it holds, and
they will bring you as many oak flowers as you want, and pine pollen,
too, and dead birds and...
In
the spirit,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment