Commentary by Ward Degler
Spring is here. And that’s both good and bad news.
Good news because I don’t recall ever being so freaking tired of winter. Tired of wearing sweaters on top of sweaters just to keep warm whilst fetching the mail.
Tired of worrying whether that row of darkening clouds to the north is going to bring yet another avalanche of snow.
And so today, tra-la-tra-la, it was 60 degrees and I drove around without my heater blowing full blast.
On the other hand, what was just a week ago ice and snow is today rain. I stand at the door and watch my yard fill up with water.
Therein, the bad news. Mud. While I can avoid slogging around in ankle-deep goo, my dog, Brutie, can’t.
He seems to dote on romping through muck. And bringing it in with him. I deal with it at two levels. Level One – moderate mud. I keep a stack of dog towels at the ready by the door.
When he barks to come in, I drop to my knees, towel flared out like a bullfighter’s cape. Cautiously, I open the door.
“Ho, Toro!” I hiss. The dog lunges. I swing the towel in a perfect Veronica, snagging the dog and wrenching him to the floor. I can almost hear “The March of the Toreadors” in the background.
If I’m lucky, I manage to clean all four feet of glop and release the dog toward the studio where he is forced to stay and dry out. “Easy Toro!”
Then there’s Level Two – The Creature From the Black Lagoon. Most of the time Brutie is black and white. At times of extreme mud, however, he turns swamp brown from his feet halfway up his chest.
He barks to come in. He is dripping. He is also smiling as only a dog who knows he has the upper hand can do.
I fill a large pan with water and drape several towels around my neck. He stands at the door, ready to lunge.
This is where it pays to have a larger brain pan than a dog. Instead of opening the door, I walk through the studio and step out onto the deck. He arrives, puzzled and dripping. His only route to the door is through me and my pan of water. He submits reluctantly.
I’m not fooled however. Within the hour he will go back outside, and we will do it all again.
It’s almost enough to make me wish for a hard freeze.
