Spring is inching forward, like Boscoe on an evening stroll, shuffle shuffle shuffle pause shuffle shuffle. Excruciatingly slow, but ever forward. And it lifts our hearts. On Saturday, we washed the back porch clean of winter's grit and salt and unfurled a new rug, and on the front porch we tore down the window condoms (sheets of clear plastic film that keep drafts from leaking through our aged windows). Then we hauled our Christmas tree down the alley for Jimmy, fuel for his nightly bonfire. (Yes, we still had our Christmas tree. But we are not slackers; the tree had been propped up in the snow and bedecked with suet and oranges for the birds. When I dragged it away from the house, a giant rabbit sprinted down the yard. I think he had been living there, sheltered by the branches and eating the suet.)
The crocuses on the south side of the house are blooming! And the scilla are poking through the dead leaves, tiny blue buds that will open soon.
Boscoe continues to eat robustly twice a day--Riley's kibble, of course--but he also continues to no longer want his Tramadol, which he takes for the stiffness and severe arthritis in his back legs. So our festival of delicacies continues, more comical than dire, trying to figure out what tidbit we can hide the Tramadol in. Everything works once, never twice.
And so he has had the usual: peanut butter, cheese, chicken, deli turkey; and the unusual: butter, buttered toast, poached egg. (Poached egg actually worked twice.) Tonight we will try turkey hot dogs, suggested by someone who reads this blog. (And a note to those who say it's a simple matter to get a pill in a dog--just make him lift his head, stroke his throat, and slip it between his teeth. To you I say, all dogs but Boscoe. He shakes his head violently, nips hard, and the pill goes flying. He absolutely knows it's coming and he absolutely does not want it.)
I took my first bike ride of the spring yesterday, around the park and past the Conservatory, where a fat red-tail hawk gleamed white in the top of a pine tree, staring down at the tasty and plump little children who were running with their parents to the cars after the spring flower show.
There were puddles and warm sunshine and oh, it was nice.
Now I must get serious and write some speeches; blogs are great places for procrastination, but I have to get to work. I'm delivering a noontime speech on Friday to college students who have won journalism awards; I'm introducing an author at her book launch the following Saturday; and at the end of the month I have to give a talk in Grand Forks. Time to figure out what I'm going to say at at least one of those events.