February 14: My Funny Valentine

Earlier on this holiday of love, I was thinking that my valentine of the day was hearing the titmice singing their courtship songs along the banks of the still-frozen river. What could be more romantic than birds singing songs of love? But this afternoon, as I was talking to a co-worker, a yellow lab appeared at the  glass door leading out to the porch. With no owner in sight, this cute little dog looked in expectantly, tail wagging, no doubt ready to lavish us with slobbery dog kisses if we'd open the door. We exclaimed how sweet our visitor was just as turned away and ran off up the hill, apparently heeding the call of its (still invisible) owner.

My husband has to put up with my watching the Westminster Dog Show every year. Tonight is the final judging. He quickly gets disgusted with such a blatant display of genetic manipulation and inbreeding. I just enjoy marveling at all the different breeds of dogs humans have produced--all those shapes, sizes, and colors for so many different reasons. There are dogs for every purpose: the Norwegian lundehund, for example, has six toes so that it can climb cliffs and hunt puffins; the toys are bred to be companion dogs; it's in the border collie's genes to herd, as my sister who owns one can attest; the bloodhound is a scent hound that can track its quarry's dried blood. There are 13" beagles and 15" beagles, and three different varieties of dachshund. There are elkhounds, deerhounds, and coonhounds; dogs that point, dogs that retrieve. The Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever apparently creates a ruckus in the water to attract curious geese and ducks. The Pekingese, once only owned by Chinese royalty, doesn't even look like a dog as it toddles around the show floor. Truly, without even entering the realm of mutts, there's a dog for everyone... if you want one. I like to think that its like that with humans, too.

Little dog visits
just to see us, devoted
for those brief seconds.

December 11: Wind

Funny how a lot of my posts lately have involved the weather. I guess that's life in Maine for you, especially this time of year. One day we have a huge storm; the next, sunshine sparkling on fresh-fallen snow. You can never really be sure of what you're doing a few days from now, because who really knows what kind of weather pattern will move in? They'll predict heavy snowfall, and then we'll get rain here on the coast. The forecast will be "all clear" for that drive south, and then you'll find yourself trying to make your way through blinding snow flurries.

Often when I wake up in the morning I think it's raining because the river is so loud. All that rushing water can make a roar. Today a combination of fast-moving high water and winds made me think some sort of tempest was raging outside. Despite sun and blue skies, wind chill definitely played in part in today's comfort level. I'm sure I'll have more branches to clear off the yard tomorrow.

A friend mentioned the wind in a very lyrical email today. (You can't communicate around here without the weather becoming part of the conversation.) She wrote: "Today is one of those days when I feel like a little speck on the surface of this immense planet with this powerful atmosphere swirling around me. Every time there's a big gust the dog makes a little tiny 'woof.' I agree." I especially loved the image of her dog barking at the wind gusts. So that inspired today's poem. (Thank you, Heidi.) 


Wind a strong presence.
Dog responds to the loud gusts
with a humble "woof."