My dog, Rue, might have been the only one excited to see seven inches of fluffy new snow at the cabin. By this time, we’re hoping to mothball the snowblowers (all three of them) and move on to Spring. Folks in the U.P. are used to Mothers’ Day blizzards or icebergs in Superior on Memorial Day, so we weren’t surprised by the storm, just not pleased to see it.
The dog, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
Like a kid on a snow day.
She chomps it, blasts through the drifts, even buries her face into it. I hear her sniffing, scenting something under the snow, her face sunk so deep that her ears triangle brown against the white-spangled surface.
I’m tempted to sniff snow to see what that feels like. This dog is good for me. She draws me into her exuberance and out of my neverending-winter mindset.
Wake, O sleeper! Sap is running. Spring is on the way! The long winter is (nearly) past!
Rejoice!
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