She's Driving Us Crazy!

True, that's a bit of a stretch. It's questionable whether we aren't already in a rather compromised state of intelligence-balance. We've got two dogs, after all. And allow them to rule the roost. We plan our days to revolve around their needs. We insist on certain rituals meant to enhance their everyday living experiences. We coddle and cuddle them. Worry about their every little cough and runny nose. Do they need winter coats today to face their ravine walk? How about their boots? So we must already be half-way to insane. Granted that, she's on a roll, driving us utterly nutsy.

She's the smart one. He's the little holtzene-keppie (wooden-head). After an arduous winter when they're quick to re-enter the house after day-time forays into the backyard to do their doggy business, they begin somehow to differentiate climate. Honestly, they do. We can look at the calendar and rejoice; winter is ebbing, spring cannot be far behind. They, on the other hand, rely on animal instinct and unacknowledged animal intelligence which enables them to recognize change through a tacile cognizance.

Usually they both go a little berserk as spring arrives. The days and nights are moderately more clement, the sun's rays are distinctly warmer, and they pine to be able to lie about in the backyard at their leisure, soaking up the sun. That's in the early spring, mind, when it's still too cold for us to want to do much more than dash in and out well coated up against the chill. When the snowbanks are still melting, when the winter-accumulation of ice and snow slowly drips off the roof.

Egad, not this year. Here we are, just approaching the end of January and she agitates continually, when the sun is out - and it has been thus far most days this month - to be let out into the backyard. We always take care during the winter months to keep the deckboards and the backyard pathways shovelled clear of snow to enable them to do their business without stumbling through piles of snow. So unless there's a new snowfall, the paths are clear and the deck is too.

It may be incredibly cold out still, but when the sun is out there she is, lingering hopefully at the sliding doors leading to the deck, eager to be let out. And of course it's just too cold. She understands that, and she positions herself back on the opposite side of the sliding doors, waiting to be admitted back into the house - shouting indignantly at us if we're not quick enough. But in the afternoon when she's let out the air is becalmed, the backyard sheltered, the sun warmer, and she spreads herself out on the deck and basks in the sun. For a half-hour at a stretch, despite my attempts to cajole her back into the interior warmth.

It's still winter, yet she appears to want to believe spring is swiftly approaching. The sun has so assured her. Even we recognize the days, the daylight hours, are getting longer once we're past the winter equinox, and we think we can feel that the sun too is warmer. She's obviously more easily convinced than we are. When we bring her back into the house her paws are cold, her ears too. But soon as she warms back up, there she is again, at the sliding doors, wanting to be out again in the sun.

She wanders out the doors, stands sniffing the breeze at the top of the deck stairs, her ears picking up stray sounds from hither and yon. Then she slowly makes her way down the stairs to the garden level and stands there on the path, waiting, luxuriating in the warmth spreading over her dark haircoat. I'm just wondering if we can anticipate that this unnerving behaviour is destined to continue for months until spring finally arrives. Or whether she's just a little discombobulated by the odd weather patterns we've begun to experience of late.

Does she know something we yet don't?