March brings the first kiss of spring – in the increased light, in the warmer air, the thawing earth. The sun sets directly behind the house now instead of at a slant behind our neighbor’s. At the edge of the woods, the snowdrops have popped up through the matted leaves, and the patches of snow are almost gone. All that remains is a dirty pile at the end of the driveway – leftover thanks to the plow after our snowstorm two weeks ago.
It’s mud season. The back yard is spongy and wherever I take a step a slick mud print appears. The dog romps in winter’s detritus, pouncing on sticks and tossing them into the air, tracking the erratic flight of squirrels from tree to tree. Yesterday she surprised a gray squirrel in our garage and instantly morphed from my companion to a predator.
No one anticipates more eagerly than a dog on point. Every muscle quivers with attention; she lifts her paw. She waits.
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