1) I don’t have to worry about a rabbit crossing our path, but I do have to keep my ears trained for fuliguline calls. At the softest quack of a duck, my dog takes off like a bat out of hell, sprinting toward the water (faster than my former-gymnast legs can keep up), a steady stream of bark-laden warnings—nay, obscenities—escaping his little doggy lips. Did you know dogs could bloviate? Me either.
2) Year round I can sit in the backyard with a glass of wine in my hand and the dog at my side. I can close my eyes and let the smell of grass, fresh from the sting of a blade, permeate my senses. I can let the stress of the day melt away, forget about all the unreturned phone calls and emails, and count the golf balls washed up on the shore. It’s heaven.
3) February means the mango trees are in bloom. The mango trees blooming means the wasps are out in droves. The wasps circling means I’m terrified to be outside. My fear of the yard of course means the dog has to pee. Now.
(By the way, something I’ve said here might be a lie. Can you tell what it is?)
(P.S. The lie is not that I have a dog. I do have a dog. A cute one. Here he is reading the newspaper with my husband.)