Mary Winter writes a column in the Spotlight section of the Rocky Mountain News (one of Denver’s two dailies). Today’s is titled My Own Personal Dog Day of Spring and it’s a gem.
You can read the whole thing online at http://tinyurl.com/opbvh – but without, I hope, violating any copyrights here are some excerpts:
Don’t want to get dressed, get wet or use soap.
Don’t want to worry about what’s for dinner.
. . . Don’t want to feign enthusiasm.
Don’t want to face the pile of papers on my desk . . .
I just want to be my dog today.
I want to stretch out on the east-facing wood deck as the sun pours over my body like a fresh batch of warm cement.
Today, I want a brain the size of a walnut.
I want to walk on four legs that don’t need to be shaved, stockinged or pedicured.
I want to dig a hole in the herb bed and bury my worries deeper than a worked-over hambone.
Today, my name is Daisy.
I wear a pink collar and have a corkscrew tail.
My hearing is so keen I can detect the garbage truck three blocks away. My nose is so highly evolved I can flush out a tennis ball in 2 feet of dead leaves from 20 yards.
My only job today is running security in the back yard, and by that I mean watching the squirrels skim power lines from the alley to the house to the garage, making sure they keep their mitts off my kibbles.
Squirrels are filthy thieves. I catch them in the garbage cans all the time.
At some point I’ll have to mix it up with the two cats from across the alley. They’ve never heard the term no loitering and think nothing of parking on our fence whenever the mood strikes them.
Then I’ll make my backyard rounds.
. . . I’ll swing by the compost pile and dig up some small amusement there, like an old avocado pit or a rotting potato.
. . . I’ll visit the concrete fish pond on the west side of the house. It doesn’t hold water for long, because it has a big crack, but it’s usually good for an inch-thick layer of decayed leaves and muck after a rain or snow.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find a soggy, smelly mess there, just enough to cover my paws so I can bring some into the house and share with it everyone.
Cleaning up my dirty prints won’t be my job, of course. When you’re a dog for a day, it’s just not in the contract.
Oh, umf, yes, I want that backyard gig so BAD today! And maybe a few scratches behind the ear.