Spring is Whooshing In

There is a mad April wind whirling around the yard, melting the snowbanks as I watch (and revealing lots of stuff I will have to police off the grass), whipping the trees to frenzy, drying the mud and the YD's dog's bed.  As the clouds race by the sun flickers, strengthens, pales to shadow and returns.  And here I am at the computer.  Still. Again.

About the dog bed?  We are dog sitting again.  The YD's dog is a sweet but contrary 'Doodle' mix, with a long, wavy white coat and a puzzled expression.  She moves from the inner city where there is no yard for her and all her expeditions are supervised walks to our acreage where she can go and do what she pleases.  What she pleases seems to encompass, mostly, staying outside. 

She refused to come in last night and so we put her bed and water out on the front porch for her.  The edge of the porch is mostly shielded by a big roof overhang, but last night the rain blew in and when I looked out this morning there was a wet dog, a wet bed and, to make everything perfect, evidence on her no-longer white sopping wet fur that she had stuck her head into the bottom of the incinerator.  She had the grace to look sheepish - wet sheepish at that.
Her majesty finally deigned to come back inside about noon and I am now letting her dry off before tackling her with a brush and carding comb to see how much mud I can remove.
Meanwhile, I have stuff done for my Thursday meeting, but not for two of the three I have scheduled for tomorrow.

Pause there while some dog brushing took place.  I got some of the muck off - I now think she may have rolled in something lovely and muddy, but there is definitely soot in there too.  Luckily she likes being brushed. The dog hair blows downwind as fast as I brush, and I envision some deliriously happy bird or small animal lining a nest with it in due course.

The lids all just blew off the trash containers downstairs.  This is a strong wind.  And, yes, it is a west wind.  The birds are not crying, however.  I suspect they are hanging on to branches with beak and claw, muttering to themselves.

Cornered

The YD's very white dog decided to go swimming in the beaver pond.  Here are the ED's photos of  her glorious romp and of what she looked like when she came out.

 And here are my shots of the clean-up.

036/365  Clean Once More.