Where the Heck is Spring?

Thunder.  Snow.  Rain.  Our walk last night was something out of the Bible.  All we lacked were locusts.  And it was cold.  Boeing Creek was running so high, Murph seemed reluctant to walk through it.  She stumbled, once, and spent the rest of the evening hoping her tail would dry.  Scott and I walked through it all, eyeing the dogs as they reacted to the weather.  Murph slowed down at the end, seeming to struggle.  I think the chill got to her bones.

The skis are still out.  Snowshoes hang in the basement, but are easy to locate.  Spring.  Winter.  Spring.  I think Murph is ready for long warm days.  The romance of the fire just doesn't cut it for her.

A foot of new snow predicted in the Cascades.  As I have written, the world is slightly askew, even the weather.

All Murphy wants to know is where the heck is Spring.  Her nose is ready, her hips long for a patch of sun, maybe, just maybe, a steak on the BBQ.  

Meanwhile, the sleeping bag comes back out for her to cuddle into on the bed.  We know how to do cold, damp, ugly.

Murphy's day.