I’m involved in a small, thirty-day writing challenge this month. It began on April Fool’s Day. Hmmm. It’s a group I’ve challenged with before. Along with Conn, they’ll keep me on my toes.
One of my writer buddies, Keziah Fenton, — Write? I Am blog — will be visiting this month. We’ll hunker down for some good food, good writing and writing talk, a visit to my favorite pub, and a trek to the theater to see Nim’s Island Gerard Butler.
The snow and ice are receding and laying bare patches of brown grass with a tinge of spring green. My small patch of crocus is huddled up against the house reciting the mantra of The Little Engine That Could — “I think I can — I think I can”. I can see the tips of my chives, as can Gracie Allen, our Golden Retriever. This is never good.
We call this swamp gator month. This has nothing to do with location and everything to do with Gracie. Each day, she patiently waits for Mr. G, honey to take her for her off-leash run over hill, over dale, and through every swampy trail. She comes back bright-eyed, with tail-wagging and tongue-lolling, and her blond fur wet and mud-streaked, and reeking of Eau de Swamp. She’s had the time of her life. And why not? She hasn’t missed tormenting one puddle or mud hole, nor has she left a single burr on her happy trail.
The really laughable part is that she comes bounding in doing the Golden happy dance, screeches to a halt at the edge of the kitchen mat — aka the Gracie demarcation line — sniffs around, with a nose we can only hope she’ll grow into, as if to say, “Whoa, Elen! What IS that smell? Everything was fine when I left. Whatchoo been doin’? It smells like swamp gator in here!”
This makes me think of one of my favorite spring quotes, which I’m thinking of having engraved on Gracie’s dog tag.
Elen Grey 