Monday, October 15, 2007
Wet Dog Weekend and Beyond
It was a gray, wet weekend and both Duncan and I are grateful it's passed, Duncan because once again he gets nice long walks through the park, rolls on the grass and the exhilaration of hunting squirrels, and me, because as much as I like looking at the rain and walking through it, and whistling Autumny songs into the wind, I hate damp shoes and socks. My wonderful dog tromps through all sorts of muck at the park (especially after they started draining the lake and flooding the back side near the pavilion) and doesn't think twice about it. My pant cuffs get a little wet and I can't get comfortable for hours. Rain in my face and hair, even down my shirt is fine; it's wet shoes I can't stand. Duncan comes home wet and he couldn't be happier. Being wet means being in need of extra love, and that means jumping on the couch to cuddle and offering to help fold laundry fresh from the drier and rolling across clean floors, which is fine because as Ambrose Bierce says, "The most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog." But now that Autumn is finally accepting my challenge and giving us a run for our money, I've started worrying about wet shoes and snow drifts and ice on Bowles. I worry about how dark it's getting and Duncan being disappointed in me for not taking him out in the sunshine and throwing the ball across the green fields. But perhaps I worry too much. Duncan isn't thinking about tomorrow or the day after that. He's thinking about the cool air and grass we played in tonight, about the squirrel we treed, which cursed at us above the roar of traffic on the street. He's thinking about the Black Forest Venison and Lamb he had for dinner and his Buddy, the stuffed opossum who's face and tail he's chewed off. He's thinking about chasing Pip around the apartment later and maybe seeing if he can talk me into sharing a bite of the banana bread I baked yesterday. I should follow his example and stop worrying about the wet. It's inevitable and there's nothing as fruitless as worrying about that. I'll worry about running out of banana bread instead.