Southern dogs, like their human counterparts, don't have much experience with snow. So they are fascinated when the flakes start to fall and cover the ground. Maybe it's that the outdoors has been transformed into a bright white tableau. Or maybe it's the extra nip in the air that revs up their energy level. Whatever the reason, Reacher, Vega and Panzer can't wait to get out the door and into the snow.
None of them seem to mind the cold, not even Reacher with his short coat. Maybe that's because his blood starts pumping as he and his German Shepherd friends chase each other around the yard like three crazy canines.
Dogs don't build snowmen, of course. Or have snowball fights. But they do enjoy a good bout of snow wrestling.
And they seem to enjoy the taste of snow on their tongues. In fact, they eat big mouthfuls of the white stuff. It might as well be vanilla ice cream. They can't seem to get enough. Frozen pine cones and icy sweet gum balls are apparently two more gourmet delights that come along with a winter wonderland.
As for me, I'm happy to stay inside where it's warm and dry and watch the show.
Reacher,
You were the first of this current trio of dogs which puts you at the top of my list. You were the puppy I chose from among your eight brothers and sisters. You caught my attention because you were spunky, energetic and playful, all characteristics which intensified as you were growing up. Although you were a challenge beginning on our first day together, we've come to a meeting of the minds. You've grown into a typical clown of a Boxer. You love going on walks, running for no reason, digging holes, watching the world go by, playing with most any other canine, meeting new people. In short, you love life! And that's what I love best about you.
Vega,
You are my first German Shepherd, but the seventh dog in my life. And we all know seven is a lucky number. We've shared a lot in the not-quite two years we've been together. The most memorable event is the birth of your eight puppies. That was quite the experience - for both of us. Friends and family who come to the house, then and now, always comment on your sweet, calm nature. They haven't seen your "killer" side. There's no doubt that you've got my back. You like longs walks, chasing balls, chasing Reacher and wrestling with Panzer. But you're just as content to lie at my feet. The two of us have developed a special bond. And that's what I love best about you.
Panzer,
I was there, up close and personal, when you were born. And just about every day since. Like your brothers and sisters, you were very vocal from day one. And you got even louder as the weeks went by, squealing and barking in that shrill puppy voice whenever I entered the kennel area to feed or play with all eight of you. You were demanding then. And you are demanding today. Every day you like to remind all of us that you are the alpha male in this house. You are smart, athletic, loyal and full of energy, not to mention oh-so handsome. As my fellow breeder who owns your father likes to say, you are the total package! And that's what I love best about you.
Atlanta has recently posted it's fifth rainiest year on record which might be why I'm feeling a bit like Mrs. Wishy-Washy. In case you're not familiar with this famous children's book character created by author Joy Cowley, let me explain.
Mrs. Wishy-Washy lives on a farm with three barnyard animals. The animals are known for getting dirty and Mrs. Wishy-Washy is known for her failed attempts at keeping them clean. The animals' favorite line is, "Lovely mud."
I don't live on a farm, but I do live on a wooded lot. What it lacks in grass it makes up for in dirt. Add all the rain I mentioned earlier and you've got mud. Got the picture?
Now, substitute three dogs for Mrs. Wishy-Washy's barnyard animals. It's more or less the the story of my recent life.
Of course, a little rain doesn't deter Reacher, Vega and Panzer from a good romp around the yard. Even if I limit their outings, I'm bound to end up with 12 muddy paws every time. Picture those paws with mud clumped under the toenails and between the pads on their feet. I'm sure you agree, there's no way one dog, much less three, can be allowed back in the house in that condition.
So, like Mrs. Wishy-Washy, I get out a tub. Then dog by dog, I begin the clean-up process. Or to quote the book, "Wishy-washy, wishy-washy." More accurately, I dip each paw into the water, swish it around and wipe it dry with one of the towels I keep in a bucket near the back door. It's a time-consuming operation, but I feel good as I release each dog into the house.
"That's better," said Mrs. Wishy-Washy.
But sooner or later, all three have to go out again.
Away goes Reacher.
Away goes Vega.
Away goes Panzer.
"Oh, lovely mud," they said.
I guess it's not really fair to compare what it must be like for the winning Super Bowl team to return home to a cheering crowd of fans and what it's like for me when I return to a frantic trio of dogs. But pandemonium is one thing I'm sure both scenes have in common.
There is a definite thrill in the air when I walk through the door. My welcoming committee is boisterous, excited and all atwitter for my attention. Twelve paws dance and prance while three bodies collide like bumper cars. Two tails go whacka-thwack-thwack and one little brown nub manages to wag Reacher's whole self.
My Boxer, along with Vega and Panzer, forget any kind of manners and jostle for position. Each one wants desperately to be the first to be graced with a pat on the head or a few scratches behind the ear. There's plenty of whining too, as if that will guarantee top dog position.
I encourage them to clear a path from the door to the kitchen. Instead, all three of them bounce around me like tennis balls on steroids. It's a rowdy crowd of animal love.
This is my home team and it's a winner.
