Seasonal Disorder

Rich: Forget the snow that fell two weeks ago. Lose the boots and the balaclava. Mothball the fleece. Prepare to suffer another stretch of good weather, even great weather, wearing t-shirts, shorts, sandals, and SPF 30.

Most years of my life I'd be thrilled to tell winter to kiss off. I'd be more than ready for sunshine, warm weather, baseball games, and motorcycle rides. But this year is different, way different. I flat out miss winter already.

I don't mean dressing in layers or the frostbitten fingers. Our area, known for its biting winds (they say the hawk flies on those blustery days), had an especially brutal time of it this year.

I miss the solitude that became my morning walk with Boomer. Most pre-Daisy mornings he and I walked before sunrise, waiting vainly for some warmth even as we received the light. It was "me and the Booms," trudging a footpath through the snow, coming back the next day to notice that ours were still the only footprints there. We shared the Prairie Path with the deer, coyotes, a fox, and birds whose songs weren't suppressed by the deepest chill. Sometimes we met another person, but not often. Others had a keener sense of survival, I suppose.

Boomer's everyday enthusiasm eventually softened my winter worldview. Winter started as a world stripped of color. It became a celebration of fiery sunrises. Without leaves the trees revealed their hidden beehives and bird nests. The cardinals and kingfishers stood out on bare branches. The many blues of the winter sky painted the pristine snow and reflected off the waters of a nearby beaver creek and pond.

Boomer wore a yellow collar round his neck, I wore a camera around mine. He explored, I observed. He pointed, I clicked. Once in a while, I could see in his eyes he knew, as did I, we were having the time of our lives.

As I press through this spring, summer, and fall, I know winter's coming back. I'll soon be missing these days of green grass, motorcycle trips, and baseball games.

But for now, believe it or not, winter memories still warm my heart.

Welcome to The WoofGang

The idea for this dog blog came to me (Jane) early Saturday morning, as I wrangled two eager canines out to our fenced yard to do their business. As they sniffed and circled, searching for just the right spot, I dashed into our laundry room to fill their food bowls, knowing that within minutes two expectant faces would be staring at me from the sliding glass door. I needed to prepare for the feeding frenzy to come. And feeding frenzy's a great way to describe it.

That's because four weeks ago, my husband, Rich, and I added a new member to our gang of three, which includes our two-year-old black Labrador retriever Boomer. We'd decided Boomer needed canine companionship, and my birthday was rapidly approaching. Because Rich couldn't think of any present to give me except the gift of a lovable yellow Lab girl pup, Daisy entered our lives at eight weeks of age, and now things in our household will never be the same.

This morning, as I guarded Daisy's puppy chow from Boomer, and Boomer's kibble from Daisy (anyone who owns Labs knows they have voracious appetites), it came to me: We four now comprise a "woof gang" (apologies to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart).

So welcome to our blog, The Woofgang. Rich and I plan to write about the joys and challenges of having two great dogs in our lives, and to post everyday pictures of our "four pack." But there's always room for more. Join our Woofgang by sending us your thoughts and photos. We'll look forward to connecting with you in the days to come!

With woofs and wags,
Rich, Jane, Boomer and Daisy