Faith saw a Racoon strolling along the dog path in our front yard this weekend. Since then Zeke has been taking long, inquisitive sniffs each time he goes outside. Monday afternoon he and I walked home from work and about a mile from the house a Raccoon skittered up a tree while we looked on. 
A pretty scruffy Raccoon at that. Probably having a tough winter with the world covered in three foot of snow these last few months.
Back when we first got Zeke we lived even further out of town, the last mile of which was up a dirt road. During a very similar winter we had tossed a few grapefruit onto the back porch, figuring it was better they froze there than rotted inside. Late that night we woke to the sound of Smudge making a gawd awful racket. I found him in the dining room flinging himself against the sliding glass door and howling. Figuring it was one of the neighbor's cats come to fight I flipped on the porch light to scare it off.
Illuminated on the back porch, in flagrant delicto with frozen grapefruit, were three beefy Raccoons. These weren't anything like the scruffy one this week. They were Raccoon Schwarzeneggers. Muscular bodies, thick beautiful fur, and not the least bit afraid of us as they capered around the porch. I'm probably reading too much into it, but I swear that they motioned me to toss the cat out...and the noisy dog while I was at it. When it became obvious that the grapefruit were the only option they faded into the shadows and were gone.
On this morning's "commute" we drove the long, scenic route (5 miles instead of 3). It wasn't quite six yet, still and peaceful, when everything about the morning seems to be on the verge. Passing a junction I caught sight of a small herd of deer crossing the other road. There were about ten deer, mostly a mix of one year olds and doe and all looking pretty healthy. Zeke didn't see a thing. I couldn't get him to look the right way no matter how I tried.
I think this whole pointing concept is lost on dogs. If I point at something Zeke usually looks the opposite direction. Does he think that the outstretched arm is a latent tail and therefore the interesting action is the other way? Maybe Zeke is the dog equivalent of Wrong Way Feldman. I can turn his head to face the deer but he is obstinant, sure that I'm trying to hide something interesting the other direction.
The next batch of deer, a mile later, worked out better since they bounded across the road right in front of us. Zeke was very interested, posture straightening and ears cocked just so. We watched as they faded into the woods their floppy white tails dancing among sullen trunks.
The office is nestled in an elbow of the Mascoma River. From my desk I've watched the long, cold winter transform rapid water into solid crust. In many respects it was like watching a large gash heal, a white pucker of scar left behind. With temperatures regularly reaching the balmy thirties and forties the melt spawns veracious under currents which rips the river open anew. It starts as a slow reversal and gains in speed. A small corner of ice lets loose, tumbles, and rushes downstream. Another, then another, and soon the force and sound will be unstoppable.
Nearby the trees fill as birds start their tentative way northward. Blue Jays squawk and hop about, reminding everyone that they merely stepped out for a moment: this is still their table, their food.
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