Morning Chill

My dog, Boomer, licks my nose, until I awake, His warmth on my chest camouflages the chill. He wants to go out, undeterred by the cold of dawn.

Begrudgingly, I get out of my warm bed, Flannel PJs and fuzzy slippers do not abate the cold. The heater clicks on with a promise of heat when we return.

Coats and sweaters hang in the front closet, waiting to be claimed. I pick the warmest one, a down-filled garment that hangs to my knees. A woolen cap and gloves go on after the excited dog is leashed.

A crusty layer of frost covers my neighbor’s yard, glistening in the sun. The foolish waster of water has left the sprinklers on once again. My large dog breaks through the crunchy film and squats.

I am tempted to leave his business there where it steams, It goes against my nature to claim revenge against the offender. I pull out a bag, bend over, collect the deposit and stand back up.

Boomer suddenly pulls me forward in pursuit of a squirrel. I think about the playful critters, gathering acorns for the winter, Ignoring distractions as the make their preparations.

Soon it will snow and blanket the ground and decorate the trees. I will resist Boomers urgent demands for walking in a winter wonderland. But winter has its own splendor in evergreens, and red and yellow holly berries.

How can something so venomous to dogs, be so beautiful and inviting? I am grateful that Boomer has no interest in these promises of Christmas. He is intent on finding the squirrels laughing at him from their perch in the trees.

An albino squirrel skitters down the naked oak tree, an acorn hangs from its teeth, It looks at us curiously drops the acorn and climbs back up the trunk into branches, Boomer thinks it is an early Christmas present, and then the laughter from above resumes.