Fifty-Five

It may blow and storm or even freeze for days at a time, but the secret those of us who live on Colorado's Front Range keep hidden from the rest of the world is that it never lasts long and we're always rewarded for our suffering and patience by sunshine and warmth. On average there are 330 sunny days a year here in Denver and even January is not immune to them. Today was one of those days.

By noon the mercury had risen to nearly sixty degrees and I decided Duncan and I needed to spend the afternoon outside, playing in the sun and enjoying the world. I grabbed some library books that badly needed returning, leashed up the boy and off we went. We walked down Bowles, sidestepping the park and navigating our way through a minefield of goose-droppings along the way. Most of them seemed quite old, brown and dusty like chalk and weren't much trouble except in volume. After dropping off the books and cutting across the stiff yellow lawn on the hill behind the library we came out on the lake trail, which was crowded with more people, dogs and strollers than I've seen since the last of the nice Autumn days. The lake, which was mostly drained in November, was low and frozen over, and looked as though a white, cotton blanket has been placed over it. We headed west and stopped by the pet store to visit Aunt Chelsea and grab a bag of Grandma Lucy's Organic Cinnamon Dog Treats. If you haven't tried them, you need to! As my family, friends and coworkers can attest, they're good enough for people to snack on, especially the pumpkin ones. Duncan loves them, too.

We took the lake trail back, moving carefully around the throngs, including the Juicy Buns, who were still garbed in velour warm-ups but had traded their tennis shoes for ugly, furry Ugg boots. The trail was clear of goose droppings but still quite wet, which didn't bother Duncan in the slightest; in fact, he went out of his way to step through every puddle, especially the deep ones, and twice if they were muddy. People around us were flying kites, jogging and roller-blading. The playgrounds were full and the punks had returned to the skate park. The only thing missing were the players on the four baseball fields, where the geese had relocated, fenced in and safe from dogs and children. Flocks and flocks of them wandered through the infield and one tall, loud one with a voice like Bea Arthur barked orders at the rest from just behind home plate.

Much of the snow has melted but there are still large wet patches of it on the northward side of things, so Duncan and I headed over to one of the fields where he could roll around, snort and stomp and be the dog he enjoys being. And watching him gave me the chance to be the person I'm best at being, content in the sunshine, enjoying the day with my best friend.