If a bluebird ski day is one without a cloud in the sky, then a dog-bird (bird-dog?) day is one where you can open all of your windows and air the doggy smell right out of your (my) house.
All that stale winter air that has been recycling through my closed-up house during rain storm after rain storm has finally escaped. Fresh air has entered every room of my house and taken the place of last year’s November air.
It was 75 degrees today with the trees budding out. I pulled weeds, broke off dead branches, unplugged the fountain and cleaned up forgotten corners of my yard. I filled five-gallon bucket after five-gallon bucket of debris and transferred them to the green can out front. It got hot, so I found a pair of shorts to wear to finish the job. The long-sleeved shirt came off, and the hat went on. Oh, legs! I remember those! They are pale white, flaky, and not ready for summer. Too bad I subjected the neighbors to them while I worked in full sun in the front yard.
I came in and ate a salad and then went back out there. I tried to walk the dogs one at a time, but the Jack Russell wasn’t having it. She jumped over the baby gate and waited for the contractor (yes, he works on Sundays) to forget to fully close the door. Then she used her clever Jack Russell nose to push the door open. The lab, Pepper, and I were all the way to the top of the hill in the green belt when Daisy came galloping up. Since I only had one leash, we all had to go home.
Daisy didn’t care. She was running free in the sunshine. Ah, the life of a dog!
A little bit later, the contractor said he was done for the day, and I sat down and read the SF Chronicle in the front yard. I could hear the Jack Russell whining inside the house. Okay, I guess I had to give the dog walking another try. This time I was able to throw a treat into the house and get Daisy to go after it. Then I shut and locked the door. Her nose couldn’t open it now.
Pepper and I enjoyed the walk up the hill again and made it back home with no trouble. Daisy got her turn, and I even got to throw the ball around a little. She had forgotten her earlier bad-dog escape. Ah, the life of a dog!
I was too pooped to go to a girl night to watch a movie and drink. I decided to stay home and wait for my youngest to call. I put on a movie (I, Tonya) and went through the old newspapers to see if I’d missed anything before I’d throw them out for the recycle pick-up. The phone call came, and I got to catch up with one of my kids. It was worth more than five nights of drinking with the gals.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my gal pals. But when it’s your kid . . . your adult kid . . .
Ah, the life of a mom!