Barking at Snowmen

Dog #2 is smart. I don't claim that as though I had anything to do with it. She was already over three years old when I adopted her in the Spring of 2008. Once in her new home, she quickly started to make Dog #1 look like he'd forgotten to study. Or studied, ever. And Dog 1 is no mental slouch.

#2 anticipates everything, watches everything, uncannily understands new direction, and commands, and situations. And she seems always to be planning (sweetly) how to get me - or any other poor soul - to agreeably do her will. If there were an Amazing Race for dogs, I'd send her off to run it without a worry.

Which is why I'm surprised that Dog 2 barks at snowmen. With a fury born in the depths of hell. No matter how many times we've walked past the snowmen in the same front yards. She should know better by now, right? I mean, snowmen may make the best damn pee poles any dog could unleash on but, snowmen-as-menace only happens on Calvin and Hobbes' watch.

I'm sure that somewhere inside, Dog 2 realizes that snowmen are just snowmen, and that barking at them might be silly, or irrational, and not gonna make them flinch or budge one bit no matter how much she wants them to. Whatever her reason, she maintains this bit of perception-as-reality thing. And that's okay. It's a manifestation of hope.

I've started to label my own bits of deep-seeded, profound irrationalities as "barking at snowmen". Silly? Irresponsible? Making excuses? Maybe some would call it that, like those who thought it was nuts to start a new career at my age, or run marathons, or to love whom I've loved, or hope for great love again. But I think barking at snowmen is just one aspect of hope. And I've never been a hope-quitter.

There is some in me, for me. Always.