courage and the conundrum
The obstacles were daunting. It was earlier than usual. The bed blankets dutifully warmed, but everything else--the floor, the furnishings, even the air itself--chilled like ice. Temperatures had dropped. More snow had fallen in the night. Mingling with the crisp breath of a late-winter storm, smoke filled the air, billowing from chimneys throughout the valley. Contentedly resting inches away from my pillows, Maisie's head lifted briefly to the sound of my voice.
"Good morning, baby," I said.
Her head plopped back into the bedding as she pretended to slumber, eyes squinted too tightly closed to make the ruse believable. I gave her another cuddle and a gentle belly rub. She wiggled and purred--a sound, as far as we can ascertain, that is unique to our talking sidekick, unless, of course, one is a cat. (Maisie is not. We've checked.) One hind leg elevated again, inviting more tummy time, then promptly dropped as she remembered she was...what was it again? Right. Sleeping.
It was too early, too cold, and, worst of it all, it was too...Monday. Getting out of bed was out of the question for this author's assistant, for one snoozy shepherd-beagle. Knowing it may have been my only hope, I uttered the ritual incantation. The tried-and-true spell would imbue my beloved companion with the valor and zeal of a white knight charging to the aid of a damsel in distress.
"Are you hungry?"
Casting aside concerns for her own safety, disregarding the unreasonable hour, the bone-biting chill, and the dreaded end to the weekend lie-in, Maisie bolted from the bed and into the kitchen. My hero.
Displays of such impressive bravery are nothing new from our girl. Just last Halloween, she bested a T-Rex, albeit one only twelve-inches high and stuffed with fluff. Also, as a matter of course, she frightens away bird-stalking cats, territory-invading dogs, dastardly delivery drivers, and the most cunning evil-doers of them all: the odious opossums. Their cute faces, passive manner, and pantomimes of sudden death are only meant to lull us into complacency before they launch their savage, bloodthirsty attacks. Or so Maisie would have us believe. On Sunday, February 26th, however, our noble protector's courage was put to the test in a whole new way. And no mystical iterations could guide her through the decision she encountered.
It was the cruelest of conundrums. Nothing instills in Maisie a greater urge to hide herself away than a gray and rainy day. She loathes being wet. She cannot even abide the sound of rain as it patters against the roof and skylights. Contrariwise, aside from the comforting caress of sunlight, nothing inspires in our dog more joie de vivre than a yard blanketed in freshly fallen snow. When she first laid eyes on the kind of wintry landscape we hadn't seen since late December, her whole body waggled. Her smile broadened, and her feet danced feverishly in place, unable to contain her excitement for the frosty frolic just beyond the door. Dennie checked the gate. The door cracked open, and our snow-loving shepherd was off.
At first, sparse snowflakes flurried around our trio as we engaged in the childlike rapture of pre-breakfast playtime in the white. (As a woman who, thanks to fractured foot, could barely walk for nearly a year, it's fair to say my own enthusiasm for the sport--to move so freely for no other reason than the pursuit of merriment--matched that of the dog whose speed and erratic flight path threatened to flatten me into the frosty depths.) Within minutes, the precipitation morphed into a mix of snow and rain. Maisie wanted to romp with her people, to sprint through the frozen fluff beneath her feet; she also wanted to flee from the moisture assaulting her from above. Obviously, she couldn't do both. She dashed to my side, peering up at me with soggy fur and sad eyes as if pleading for me to make the rainfall vacate this place and leave her be. Invoking the promise of nourishment seemed unlikely to influence the clouds as it had my dog, so I stroked her wet head and lured her into another pounce.
She raced through the snow. She hesitated in the rain. Then she chased both Dennie and me, darted across the lawn, and played some more, occasionally breaking to slurp up another readily available snow cone. Maisie could have run to the door, beneath the cover of our deck. She could have waited out the rain or begged us to let her back inside. But this is a girl who had defeated dragons and dinosaurs and marsupials alike. This is a girl who would go on to face, with aplomb, the commencement of another work week. For our intrepid heroine, not even the fiendish foe falling from above could pull her away from her niveous nirvana.
And what a rollicking time we had! Twice on Sunday, the three of us suited up--Maisie in her sweatshirt and waterproof coat, Dennie and I in our snow boots and heavy cold-weather gear--and we made the most of winter's latest gift. Spring will be here soon enough. For now, as meteorologists predict more snowfall on and off for the remainder of the week, we'll relish one of Maisie's favorite pastimes as often as we are able.
Today our Miss Moon encountered another achingly difficult choice. She could honor her obligations and come to work with yours truly, helping in all the adorable ways that she does, or she could fill her belly and promptly crawl back into my bed. With an unshakeable confidence that she will not be fired for dozing on the job, my reliable assistant, presently, is sound asleep. In her defense, she did wake an hour early. It is very cold, as well as very Monday. She also has both her parents wrapped firmly around her little toe...and knows it. Still, beneath that serene smile, beyond her soft snores, there lies a true conqueror, a warrior. And what could be more courageous than abandoning the bravado long enough to admit even the bravest heroes greatly benefit from a rejuvenating nap? (Or twelve.)
As I jot out these final thoughts, Dennie descends the stairs, as if on cue, and pulls back the nearest curtain. The promised snowfall has, indeed, returned. When Maisie wakes, she will be delighted beyond measure. The flakes are big and fluffy. My favorite kind of snow. My favorite kind of dog.
Get to know Maisie better in the memoir, Moonlight of the Talking Dog.