We have been gifted with unseasonably warm and sunny weather for this time of year and Doc and Sally and Molly, optimists all, think it is actually early spring. I know better, and so does Jack, though he insists on acting like a young lamb, frolicking about as if he's grown rockets on the soles of his feet.
Today the woman removed Doc's blanket and he rolled five times in a row, working the snow well into his back. It's the kind of granular white stuff humans call "maple sugar snow" because a few weeks from now it will signal that the sap has begun rising in the maple trees. I have tasted the maple syrup they make from boiling down gallons of the sap and it is delicious; of course they keep it locked away in the house. I would like to go on record as saying we are nowhere near maple syrup season. This frolicking will end in tears - mark my words. And the real snow will return with a vengeance.
In the true spirit of the winter olympics, Jack has expanded his horizons on the sports front. Not content with rassling me and playing high-speed hide-and-seek in the trees, today he added the high jump on ice to his repertoire. Not intentionally. It came about when the woman rinsed out the wheelbarrow affair and left it on it's side in the sun. You can guess the rest. That crazy old man came tearing around the corner of the barn, saw the wheelbarrow at the last second, and cleared it like a puissance jumper! Both the woman and I would have benefitted from the use of smelling salts. Jack laughed like one demented and said "heehee, today i could jump clear over tha moon!" I fear he's become as mad as a hatter.
I will carry on as the lone voice of reason in this northern looney bin.