Barometer

Yesterday was difficult.  Murphy wanted upstairs, no downstairs, no, maybe in the basement, no, outside, hmmm, maybe upstairs.  Woof, woof, woof.  I barely sat at my desk the whole morning.  Finally, I gruffly barked back at her: Murphy, you lie down on your bed.  Now stay.  

She looked at me with that face, you know, the face labs have perfected: Ok, Mom, it's your problem you're so agitated.  I'll forgive you.

Then I realized.  After a number of weeks of temperatures hovering around thirty-nine degrees, it was warm.  Or should I say, it was typical Seattle winter weather.  Forty-seven and cloudy.  Underneath my cherry tree the crocuses were popping up.  

Murph is my barometer, and I think part of her agitation yesterday, particularly how much she wanted to be outside, was an indication that the weather is changing.  As she ages, she has become more reliant on her "instincts," and they appear to be operating at 100%.  The rhythms of the day are important, such as walking times, toast times (the most important), and when to nap.  But I also think when the weather changes, Murphy senses it.  Maybe the subtle changes confuse her, or maybe she is "fired up, ready to go."  

Next time she is so restless I need to pay attention.  Maybe there is a new bird at the feeder, or another annual beginning to pop up.  Or maybe Murph is just trying to tell me that Spring is in the faint breeze, I need to stop what I am doing and walk with her in the garden.  

Murphy's day.