White Dog sighed, "This is much better. March comes in like the lamb we all love so much!" Today was sixty-five degrees. That nine inches of snow? A fable for future generations. The sidewalks and streets were clear and dry. Our boulders and bushes once again bore their own shapes and identities. The sandy soil drank up the snow melt as fast as the sun could turn the fluffy whiteness into water.
There were six happy White Dogs who went through the dog door to turn their faces toward the sun and to warm bones in the delightful promise of soon-to-be Spring...and one very confused Darker White Dog who looked around, surprised, and wandered the yard nosing the quickly disappearing white joy of yesterday.
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