It's been glorious weather-wise - GLORIOUS! - both here and across the country. Sunny and warm, day after day. The snow has all but disappeared - just a few frightened clumps of gray ice hiding under the bushes. I dare not say it, I really dassn't, but COULD this be the winter that never was? Sure, we had a couple of frosty days, and a shallow blanket of snow for a few weeks or so, but on the whole you'd think we were living in West Virginia. I know this isn't good for the planet. I realize that global warming causes extreme weather, and that hurricanes will rage as polar bears walk down Bay Street, but still ... it's kind of nice to go out for a walk wearing nothing but a jacket and a smile (I exaggerate - of course I wear pants).
I was doing just that yesterday as I walked the dog in the park. Now Asta has a serious case of spring fever. The smells! The sun! The other dogs! And oh, the mud! Asta, as you know by now, is a Golden Doodle - part golden retriever, part standard poodle, but apparently she is also part pig. She looooooves the mud. She'll start by running through it, until she looks like she's wearing black stockings, the naughty bitch, and then she'll ultimately fling herself down in it and roll around until she's completely covered in guck, the smellier the better. And then. And then she will hurl herself at every passerby, as if to say "Isn't this FABULOUS? You should try it too! No really! Let me give you a taste of this mud! You will LOVE it! Hey! Where are you going? Come back here!"
It being an off leash area, no one seemed to mind. After all, it's a big park, and there are plenty of paths to take where pig dogs are not allowed to roam at large. Unfortunately, the young Asian couple walking towards us didn't seem to realize this. Asta bounded towards them, but as soon as she got within several feet of them, the woman started to scream. Seriously scream, as if she was being pursued by the hounds of hell. Now Asta may be a sizeable dog, and she may have been covered in mud, but she is basically timid as a mouse, and as soon as the girl starting shrieking, she froze. Not that it made any difference: the girl ran up the bank on the side of the road, screeching and howling, and Asta - I kid you not - swung her head and looked at me, as if to say "What the hell?" The woman continued to get her freak on; clearly, she didn't speak English, and, as her boyfriend pleaded with her to come back down the hill, I put Asta the Three-Headed Monster Dog back on her leash. I'm not sure, but I think she may have peed her pants. (Not Asta, the woman. Asta does not wear pants, although I, as I mentioned, do.) I apologized for my boisterous poodle, but the woman just frantically waved us away, so I thought it best to move on, leaving the man to talk his girlfriend down. "Some people, eh?", I said to Asta, as we rounded the corner, passing an Irish Wolfhound, as big as a horse, off leash and jacked up, heading back the way we came.