a day like this

A day like this one is not to be had in early March in south-central Wisconsin in normal times. And it wont be had in any of the remaining days of the month. It is absolutely gorgeous (to borrow one of Ed's favorite words). 68F/20C, for goodness sake! With sunshine to fill the cup of the most sun deprived soul. 

And maybe it's for this reason that my pups, too, had such a good morning! Up at 7:30, out without issue, Henry stifling his barks with a look to me for treats, Sadey not pulling too hard. I tell you, every bad morning (Saturday) has its counterpart (today)!

My two dogs play together with their duckie toys, and rest while I eat breakfast.

At 9:30 they are antsy to get going

Off to doggie daycare, where they can both romp and play without worry. Happy dogs indeed. I do a quick run to the grocery store, where for once the daffodil bucket is not empty, then home again to unload it all and still be on time to meet up with my visiting friend for lunch. Outside!

I could run through all my dog issues with her all over again! It's good to have friends who have their own troubles and yet will listen to you talk for a long time about what it's like to have a dog who barks and lunges at strangers.  

And in the afternoon? No kid pick up today so I finally have the time to go biking with Ed. It's a perfect day for it. Like June only it's March!

As is our habit, we pause by Lake Waubesa.

 

 

 

I watch two kids playing, wading in the icy cold, muddy water and I think -- would Henry bark even at these two?

 

 

 

If Saturday began poorly and ended well, I'd say this day is a flip side of that coin. Stunningly beautiful beginning, sad ending: I was picking up the two pooches and as usual, they are besides themselves with joy to see me. Henry is not besides himself with joy when others come into the room to pick up their dogs. A close encounter of the type you dont want followed. I pulled him away yet again from the sources of his stress. So now there's this: he cannot be led out into a room where others enter. At the very least, he has to be muzzled. It's as if the doors are closing around him -- the most beautiful, loving dog I have ever known, who has just one great big issue: he wants to protect me, us, from strangers coming toward us. The most natural instinct in the dog world, but one that cannot be allowed to be present in the human world.

Time to take all this to my vet again and to the doggie daycare staff who all adore him as much as I do. I suppose there's only one way that I can end this post -- with a great big "Oh, my poor, beloved Henry! You sure know how to make a mess of things!!"

with so much love...