Is this really necessary?

Now, you're probably thinking I'm referring to the 6-inches-and-still-falling snow. Yeah, that too. But in reality, this is what it looks like here in early Spring. Snow. Or mud. Of the two, hate mud WAY more than I dislike snow.

But what I'm referring to is the mailbox sans door. Back after the 9-1-1 ordeal, we were notified by the post office that we had to remove the door on our rural mailbox, as an anti-terrorism measure. C'mon, now. If a terrorist went to the trouble to drive all the way out here in the boondocks to do some damage, does anyone really believe (s)he'd be deterred by the fact that there's no door on the mailbox to hide the bomb or poisoned package? So, patriotically conforming to the silly law, we removed the mailbox door. For me, that began a number of years of soggy junk mail to dispose of and drippy bills to pay. Thanks, Uncle Sam.

A few weeks ago, I saw something on TV about a man who was studying how many words a dog recognized. The Border Collie (Yea! Border Collies!) was able to discern one toy from another, by name. My foreign-born sister-in-law says my dog understands English better than she does. This morning, I decided to see if Tuck would know what I was asking for if I had a mix of items on the floor for him to choose from. I have to tell you, I often tell him to "get my socks" because I'm too lazy to bend over and pick them up myself, and he happily does that for me. So this morning, I put two socks, a dishtowel, his beloved toy rabbit and my gloves on the kitchen floor. I went to the other room and asked him to go get my gloves. He ran to the kitchen, picked up the towel, growled and shook his head to toss it aside. Then he grabbed one glove and brought it to me. I said, "get me the other one" and he did.

Now, granted it doesn't take much to amuse me, but I find this dog to be a constant source of entertainment. I'm SO not used to things going my way, it's a delight to have this dog who is always eager to please. Sorta like supermarket cantaloupes -- they're usually such a musty-tasting disappointment that when you get a good one, what a treat! (Where did THAT come from? I don't know. Maybe I'd better go eat some breakfast to fuel my failing brain.)