Even in the coldest weather, my claustrophobia and I insist of having my bedroom window open just a hint. That way, the air can get into the house. I have never really credited stories about how houses are not entirely airtight and that there is air circulation occuring all the time. To be more accurate, the rational me believes it, but my lurching stomach and rapidly-beating heart know that I'm going to suffocate, and soon, when the window is shut. 

So this morning I heard when the first birds returned to our part of Ontario. A quanking of Canada Geese flew by, hundreds of squawking crows in the bushes that separate our property from the one next door, the occasional song bird trill from somewhere, perhaps from the beautiful golden maple tree, barren, which is outside our bedroom window.  There were other sounds this morning just as sweet, the best being the steady melting of the icicles hanging from our eavestroughs. The frigid breeze of last night was just a memory.

It was cold enough, though, when I got outside with D.J. at 7:20 a.m. with a desperate dog.  I immediately regretted not bringing gloves, as my hands were soon stinging with cold, and was glad of my husband's hat, hastily grabbed as we headed out of the door.  D.J. was not co-operative this morning, and that's the most polite that I can be about the situation. He pulled, wrapped the lead around me, tested out every piece of ice for flavour, and rolled on his back in the snow at every available opportunity. My well-behaved dog of the night before had vanished into the fresh, energetic morning. At the community centre, people were LEAVING hockey practice at 7:30 this morning [why do people do this?!] and the sight of so many people, so many trucks [without exception, all the people drove pick-ups], drove D.J. nearly to distraction.

And now, for the asphalt and the birds. We were in sight of our house when D.J. espied a flock of crows in the sky. They were probably 60-70 feet above us, definitely close enough for a young German Shepherd to jump up and grab. You should know, on good authority, that he tried, in one amazing leap, to catch one of the flying crows, but was ultimately unsuccessful. Success lay elsewhere. His jump, coupled with his human's coincidental slipping on the ice, left me flat on my back on the road, in pain, and definitely not a fan of dog-walking. Luckily, D.J. was thoroughly acquainted with doggy first-aid - licking my face until I got off the ground to escape any more face-wetting - and we headed home. 

My back is so sore that I've had to call in sick for tomorrow. Obviously I've bruised something really well. But, as Scarlett O'Hara so wisely noted, tomorrow is another dog walk, and I hope that things go better this time around!

It was a week ago tonight that we brought D.J. home. Life has settled into a routine, more or less, for both humans and dog. 
I got home from work tonight around 9:25 p.m.  John and Ash uncrated D.J., who then proceeded to run around me in circles, jump up on me to lick my neck and chin furiously, and run up and down the stairs trying to guess where I'd head next so that he'd be there when I got there. He was most pleased to see that after two nights abstinence because I've been suffering from an icky head cold that I was planning to take him for a walk. 
Dog-walking when I come home from work is really nice. Yes, it's really cold, and yes, there's a part of me that would prefer to sink into an armchair, clad in comfy pajamas, but then I realize that I've been in an unwindowed optical shop all day and that now I'm out in the fresh air, the wind brisk and biting on my cheeks, with a beautiful dog next to me, who is giving happy pants as he trots along by my side, and who is occasionally stopping to roll in the snow or to eat a piece of ice. The twenty-minute walk invigorates me, and I get home feeling less sleepy, ready for some food, and happy to have had the company of my dog. 
D.J. may belong to my daughter, but I know that he's really mine.

....is not easy, especially when he's 65 pounds of pure muscle, somewhat stubborn, and determined to sniff every square inch of his surroundings. I'd been out on a lot of walks with John and D.J. before I finally soloed yesterday after work, just me and D.J., in the last of the afternoon sun. 

Frankly, it went abysmally. I came home feeling less like I had had fresh air, exercise, and companionship with my dog than I did feeling like this was probably what pro wrestling felt like. Accustomed to my strong husband on the other end of the lead, D.J. immediately sensed my weaker body strength, inexperience and nervousness, and exploited it as much as he could. I must say for myself that I was really firm with him. I must have jerked him over to the left hand side of me six million times with the reprimand tone in my voice, following that up with a "good doggie" sort of phrase to let him know that walking next to me was behaviour that I approved of, and at crosswalks, sometimes it took several years to get him to sit, but we stayed until he did. 

My firmness of yesterday seems to have paid off, because I decided to do the early-morning walk with him this morning, and it went tons better.  There was still some pulling, but much less so, but he was much quicker to obey my commands, and seemed altogether a different dog. Thank goodness for that!  

I'll be glad when some decent weather gets here and I'm not walking him across snow and ice in bitter weather. This morning the cold and the wind were just dreadful; it was lovely to come home and snuggle back under the blankets. 

( Nice photo of John walking D.J. on a typical Ontario winter day.... )