This morning started off snowy, just as the Capital Weather Gang had predicted.  It wasn’t the kind of peacefully falling snow that gently whispers “Winter Wonderland.”  It was the heavy, wet, swirling kind, powered by gusting winds.  The kind against which no hat, scarf, hood or umbrella offers any buffer.  It’s everywhere at once, especially in eyes, boot tops and inside jacket cuffs.  

And so it was a good morning to appreciate being without a dog requiring an extensive walk, no matter the weather.  I’m still up and out most mornings, but by necessity only briefly, to replenish the seed smorgasbord I offer the birds and squirrels.  And then, from the warm comfort of our playroom, I can watch the ongoing parade of wildlife, both feathered and furry, that flourishes just beyond our windows. 

Every once in a while I glance out and think I see Kiko. Occasionally there’s the briefest moment of panic, as I mistake one of the bold neighborhood foxes for our dear departed dog. There’s that lush red fur, those eternally pointy ears, the fixed, focused stare, the poised stance.

It’s as though he never left, but simply moved outside.

A welcome thought on this cold, blustery morning, when I can happily remain indoors.