Head in the Clouds Amherst started recording a journal about dog walking and the impact of weather on dogs and their walkers in October 2012. We soon realized that our dog Kelvin* had a story to tell and it was about more than precipitation and temperature. Or, put another way, weather experiences are about much more than getting wet and cold (or hot). And so, Walkin' Kelvin morphed into something more than what to wear when walking the dog. This is our ongoing journal of Kelvin's most curious walkabouts in all kinds of weather.
And just to be clear, this is not a picture of Kelvin. Obviously, it's a picture of Toto and Dorothy, which seems appropriate here, since Toto is the very first cinematic dog to make the weather about much more than (in his case) stuff flying around the sky. Kelvin and our Head in the Clouds dog walker are simply following in Toto's (and Dorothy's) tradition. In the end, as wonderful as the journey may be, there's no place like home.
*Kelvin the dog was named for the "kelvin," a unit of measurement for temperature. On the Kelvin scale, the boiling point is +373° K, the freezing point is +273°K, and 0° K is absolute zero, the temperature at which all thermal motion ceases. The Kelvin Scale was proposed in 1848 by William T. Kelvin, 1st Baron of Largs (1824-1907), Irish-born Scottish physicist and mathematician. At Head in the Clouds Amherst, we aometimes refer to our canine Kelvin as "Vin," for short.
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November 17: Brilliant sun right now (early morning), and sub-freezing, so dress warmly. Kelvin (who sometimes goes by his nickname, Vin) sniffed the air for a moment - we figured to gauge the temperature - before stepping outside. Frost on the grass, which crinkled softly under paw and foot.
November 19: Kelvin bounded out on his walk this morning, excited to greet the cold, 28°F, sunny morning. (His walker, not quite as thrilled.) It promises to get warmer - up to the mid-40s - by early afternoon, with blue skies all day. For Kelvin, anything is possible is possible on a day like this (well, really, any day). Not only was he finally referenced by name in his own Head in the Clouds daily column (which, if we're honest, he could care less about), but he also made an incredible discovery on the trail. But more on that tomorrow.
November 22 (Thanksgiving): It's been a few days since Vin's incredible discovery, and he's moved on to greener fields. He may recollect his find at some point and dig it up, but for now, it's all about stepping out into the bright sun. It's sure to be a dog and dog walker's paradise later today, with lots of people out and about, people and dog friends to visit with, and incredible smells about the house. As for that thing buried in the yard, that's for another day.
November 25: Vin was all excited about going for a walk this morning, but after about ten minutes out in the cold decided that indoors was where he wanted to be. And then five minutes later, after spying something enticing outside (squirrel, chipmunk, deer, dog?), he wanted back out. So out he went again, only to sniff about briefly, remember that it's colder than he would like, and go back inside. Too cold for this silliness. Dog walkers should dress warmly today and be prepared for canine capriciousness.
November 27 (#1): Vin bounded out the door this morning, oblivious to the snow falling. Then he paused and looked around startled, as if he'd never seen snow before (which is not the case at all). Proceeding forward and sniffing along the ground, he gave the impression of a dog on a quest. Does he remember the same path months ago, hedged with lush foliage? Is he in search of the path to summer? Or is he simply in the moment, happy to be out and about? Be prepared for your dog to shake off snow upon reentry. After Vin came back inside and sprayed water droplets everywhere, he staked out a warm spot by the heater for a post romp nap.
November 27 (#2): Oh what a difference a few days make in New England. Last week- right after the holiday- spring temperatures and dry land made it feel like April, not November. And Vin responded. He ran and played with other dogs, and couldn't get enough jumping into and swimming in the nearby pond (not Puffer's in case you're wondering). By the end of the walk, if he was dirty, we had him jump in again to rinse off. Today, it's a different story. I was raised to describe today's weather as "raw" - wet and cold. And after our mid-afternoon walk, the wet snow has made it quite muddy. Suggestion: leave a towel by the door to wipe the dog's feet today, or you'll see those paw prints across your whole house.
December 2: The black ice from last night is still out there, making Kelvin’s walk this morning a slippery and potentially dangerous excursion. The fog is freezing, and it’s also raining out there, making already slick surfaces even more slippery. Kelvin can be a “puller” at times, and we have noticed that keeping the leash short can help us keep our footing and prevent a fall. It’s also a good reminder to re-start the no-pull training and why it’s important. It’s hard to find the “beauty” in mornings like this in Amherst, but a foggy walk in the woods, where the footing is more secure, and Kelvin has plenty of smells to keep him busy, can definitely redeem a day like this. Plus, it's not as cold as it was yesterday! In any case, leave a towel at your door to wipe those paws upon your return.
December 3: Sunny, balmy, mid-50s temps today, and Kelvin is delighted to be out and about, greeting other dogs, and taking in the day. Still, don't be deceived - it's still cold enough to require a barn coat or jacket.
December 9: Today is only a slight improvement over yesterday's cold, hard rain. But it is an improvement, and the rain seems to have abated for a while. Kelvin is more interested in getting out today and taking his time than he was yesterday. And he even rubbed noses briefly with a canine friend we passed. The dog walkers exchanged the usual comments about the crummy weather and pondered whether snow is a possibility in the near future (concluding, no, probably not). Kelvin was completely uninterested in the weather talk, and tugged his way home.
December 12 (12/12/12):
It happened exactly like this. At 12:12 pm today, I turned to Kelvin, my 7-year-old black and white, shelter-rescued, shepherd-collie-something-mongrel-mix of a dog and remarked, “So, it’s twelve twelve pm on twelve, twelve, twelve.”
And he picked up his head and replied, “Yes, this is the last time the numbers will align on the Gregorian calendar for almost another century.” You don’t actually expect your dog to talk to you in plain English, never mind form a coherent sentence, so the fact that he spoke with a slight Scottish accent hardly registered at the time. Was I dreaming? Had I imagined the comment?
I stared blankly back at Kelvin and muttered, “Did you just say something?”
He rolled his eyes and stood up. “Time to go out,” he demanded.
“Out?” I sounded more calm than I felt.
“It’s a sunny day.” stated Kelvin, “You’ll want to mention that on the blog.”
“Good God,” I said.
To which Kelvin replied with just a hint of amusement, “'Good Dog,' you mean.” And out we stepped into the cold sunshine.
December 13: Kelvin has not stopped talking since yesterday when he started up. He is sparing with his words, however, so most of the time I can pretend nothing is out of the ordinary. We were both conserving our heat on this morning’s walk, as it was about 14°F, cold and sunny.
December 15: Dogs somehow know, don't they? Despite the fact that it was a warmer (above freezing), sunnier day today, neither of us was up for much talking. And given that Kelvin has only recently become conversant, that should tell you something. The news out of Newtown CT has been devastating, and it's spilled over every moment of the day. Towards the end of our walk this afternoon, we paused by a crumbling stone wall and sat in silence, except for the hammering of a woodpecker somewhere. It should be raining, I thought - that would be more appropriate. Kelvin rested his head on my knee and sighed.
December 20: Kelvin and I have been discussing the end of days - it is, after all, solstice tomorrow, and the "end" of the Mayan calendar. We went out for a walk tonight and noticed that the clouds were rolling in.
"Is this what you mean by the 'end of days'?" asked Kelvin.
"You mean - night?" I replied.
"Well, it is the end of day," Kelvin mused logically. I realized, of course, that he was right in a way (who knew dogs understood so much?) The end of a day is a kind of passage into a new phase, a different state of being, akin to what the Mayans, perhaps, had in mind.
"So it is," I added. Kelvin picked up an enormous branch in his mouth and carried it all the way to the door, at which point I had to chuckle as he couldn't seem to figure out how to maneuver it sideways to bring it inside. After he smashed into the door for the third time, I reached out to help.
December 24: It’s been a run of fairly monotonous weather days lately, so walks with Kelvin have been punctuated more by conversation on the state of the world than by observations on the weather. Kelvin is content no matter what we do (as long as we go outside frequently), and he rarely complains. That makes him pretty wonderful company even now that he is talking out loud. (Being in Amherst, it’s natural to assume that talking out loud will lead to confrontation of some kind. In fact, an oft repeated phrase around here is “Amherst, where only the ‘h’ is silent.”) So, anyway, early yesterday evening, while walking through our neighborhood and exclaiming over the occasional houses with lights, we wound up on the topic of global warming. That’s also an easy conversational progression these days, as lack of snow inevitably leads to global warming, right?
“I wonder when it will snow,” I mused.
“Eventually, it will,” replied Kelvin after casually sniffing the length of a fence.
“Well, yes," I said, only slightly exasperated at Kelvin’s equanimity about the whole thing. “But when?”
“Why do you need to know?” The dog turned to examine a small stick in our path. “It will snow when it snows.”
How to explain planning to a dog, equipment ready for adventures, the joy of anticipation, and why there has to be snow on the ground for Christmas? “Well,” I offered, “knowing when it’s going to snow, even when it’s not snowing yet, is not that different from those few seconds between when you see me opening a can of dog food and when I put it down on your tray for you. You are just about dancing by the time that food is served. You seem pretty happy.”
“It’s like that?” said Kelvin in surprise. He turned to study me intently. “I fail to see how snow and food are the same thing at all.” Then I could swear he smiled. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
December 26:
"There's a storm coming," I told Kelvin.
"Well, heck, let's go for a walk now, then," he said, jumping up and down at the door.
"It's not going to really get here until tonight," I added helpfully, grabbing my hat and gloves.
"So, great," said Kelvin, "even more reason for a walk now and not later." Kelvin can find any reason for going on a walk - impending snow, sun, rain, wind. But the sun is shining right now, even though it's frosty and very cold. And that somehow makes it feel a whole world warmer.
December 31: New Year's Eve with Kelvin is starting out gray and cold, although it's expected to jump a degree or two above freezing later today. I think I've had enough of snow for a while, but Kelvin still greets each outing as though he's never seen snow before. "It's still here," he exclaims, galloping through the drifts and burying his nose in white powder (by which I mean the snow, of course). "Yes, it is," I mutter with somewhat less enthusiasm. It's a good thing we live with a dog, or I would never get exercise in colder weather. We keep a towel by the door - and you should, too, if you walk a dog - to dry off Kelvin after he's been outside so he doesn't leave melting snow all over the house (much as he might like to do just that).
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January 7: As you may know by now, Kelvin is fond of sticks. And by that, I don't mean those short, stubby sticks that can be easily tossed and fetched. That I would understand. Instead, Kelvin seeks out long, gnarly five to eight foot tree branch remnants. Most of his stick possessions would make excellent walking sticks for people except for their length - they are just too long. The sight of a dog carrying an oversized tree branch draws smiles, chuckles, and outright laughter and pointing from people we pass. I will admit to having been somewhat embarrassed when I first experienced this reaction, but now, a few years the wiser, I just smile along with everyone else. Kelvin doesn't collect or walk with sticks on every outing, but at least twice a week he makes it a point to bring home a new branch. This becomes somewhat challenging when there's significant snow cover, like now. But Kelvin has learned over the years. On weather days like these, he simply takes a branch from his home stash and carries it along the entire walk, all the way back home.
Ever since Kelvin started talking, I've wanted to ask him about the sticks, but I kept putting it off. I had lots of excuses for not broaching the topic, but all that aside, I kind of enjoy the attention and didn't want to say anything to cause Kelvin to change his ways. Until today, that is. He was taking his sweet time deciding which stick to pick out of his home collection, and my patience was wearing thin.
"Could you hurry up already?" I paused, considering the possibility that my next question could make Kelvin feel self-conscious, and decided that might not be such a bad thing. "And why do you carry sticks around, anyway?" I added, with a touch of exasperation in my voice.
Kelvin stared back at me with what can only be described as a look of incredulity. He dropped the stick he was holding in his mouth, and then said, very slowly, the way one might explain something complicated to a small child, "Speak softly and carry a big stick - you will go far."
Kelvin tends to be quite literal in his language, so I'm pretty sure he was not endorsing a foreign policy stance with that statement. But this is Amherst - you just never know.
January 13:
"I have a cold or a flu or something," I remarked to Kelvin. My tone was pathetic - I was trying to convey the sheer misery of having to go outside with a headcold. Couldn't he take himself out? (I posed this second question only to myself, as I'm pretty sure Kelvin would love to romp around without an escort.)
Kelvin stopped circling the door long enough to say with an inappropriate amount of exuberance, "Oh, that's too bad." And then he was back, jumping at the door.
I tied on a scarf even though it didn't really seem that cold outside. "I've noticed that dogs never seem to get colds," I observed with a cough.
"It's because we lead a good life," Kelvin shouted back as he jumped over the doorstop. I was pretty sure it had more to do with dog physiology or DNA or something, but I didn't bother to say so aloud. I sneezed into a tissue and made my way outside.
February 2, Groundhog Day: The Weather Channel was front and center this morning at 7:30 am, as Kelvin and I sat down to hear what Punxsutawney Phil had to say about the rest of the winter. Okay, to be perfectly honest, that’s not exactly true. I was the only one watching The Weather Channel. Kelvin was in the same room, but only half-listening as he sat by the window, surveying our backyard for signs of deer.
December 26:
"There's a storm coming," I told Kelvin.
"Well, heck, let's go for a walk now, then," he said, jumping up and down at the door.
"It's not going to really get here until tonight," I added helpfully, grabbing my hat and gloves.
"So, great," said Kelvin, "even more reason for a walk now and not later." Kelvin can find any reason for going on a walk - impending snow, sun, rain, wind. But the sun is shining right now, even though it's frosty and very cold. And that somehow makes it feel a whole world warmer.
December 31: New Year's Eve with Kelvin is starting out gray and cold, although it's expected to jump a degree or two above freezing later today. I think I've had enough of snow for a while, but Kelvin still greets each outing as though he's never seen snow before. "It's still here," he exclaims, galloping through the drifts and burying his nose in white powder (by which I mean the snow, of course). "Yes, it is," I mutter with somewhat less enthusiasm. It's a good thing we live with a dog, or I would never get exercise in colder weather. We keep a towel by the door - and you should, too, if you walk a dog - to dry off Kelvin after he's been outside so he doesn't leave melting snow all over the house (much as he might like to do just that).
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2013
January 7: As you may know by now, Kelvin is fond of sticks. And by that, I don't mean those short, stubby sticks that can be easily tossed and fetched. That I would understand. Instead, Kelvin seeks out long, gnarly five to eight foot tree branch remnants. Most of his stick possessions would make excellent walking sticks for people except for their length - they are just too long. The sight of a dog carrying an oversized tree branch draws smiles, chuckles, and outright laughter and pointing from people we pass. I will admit to having been somewhat embarrassed when I first experienced this reaction, but now, a few years the wiser, I just smile along with everyone else. Kelvin doesn't collect or walk with sticks on every outing, but at least twice a week he makes it a point to bring home a new branch. This becomes somewhat challenging when there's significant snow cover, like now. But Kelvin has learned over the years. On weather days like these, he simply takes a branch from his home stash and carries it along the entire walk, all the way back home.
Ever since Kelvin started talking, I've wanted to ask him about the sticks, but I kept putting it off. I had lots of excuses for not broaching the topic, but all that aside, I kind of enjoy the attention and didn't want to say anything to cause Kelvin to change his ways. Until today, that is. He was taking his sweet time deciding which stick to pick out of his home collection, and my patience was wearing thin.
"Could you hurry up already?" I paused, considering the possibility that my next question could make Kelvin feel self-conscious, and decided that might not be such a bad thing. "And why do you carry sticks around, anyway?" I added, with a touch of exasperation in my voice.
Kelvin stared back at me with what can only be described as a look of incredulity. He dropped the stick he was holding in his mouth, and then said, very slowly, the way one might explain something complicated to a small child, "Speak softly and carry a big stick - you will go far."
Kelvin tends to be quite literal in his language, so I'm pretty sure he was not endorsing a foreign policy stance with that statement. But this is Amherst - you just never know.
January 13:
"I have a cold or a flu or something," I remarked to Kelvin. My tone was pathetic - I was trying to convey the sheer misery of having to go outside with a headcold. Couldn't he take himself out? (I posed this second question only to myself, as I'm pretty sure Kelvin would love to romp around without an escort.)
Kelvin stopped circling the door long enough to say with an inappropriate amount of exuberance, "Oh, that's too bad." And then he was back, jumping at the door.
I tied on a scarf even though it didn't really seem that cold outside. "I've noticed that dogs never seem to get colds," I observed with a cough.
"It's because we lead a good life," Kelvin shouted back as he jumped over the doorstop. I was pretty sure it had more to do with dog physiology or DNA or something, but I didn't bother to say so aloud. I sneezed into a tissue and made my way outside.
February 2, Groundhog Day: The Weather Channel was front and center this morning at 7:30 am, as Kelvin and I sat down to hear what Punxsutawney Phil had to say about the rest of the winter. Okay, to be perfectly honest, that’s not exactly true. I was the only one watching The Weather Channel. Kelvin was in the same room, but only half-listening as he sat by the window, surveying our backyard for signs of deer.
“Look at those crowds,” I enthused, “there are thousands of people out there, dancing, cheering, braving the cold.” I searched my memory for an appropriate quote. “They’re just‘throwing caution to the wind. It's inspiring in a way.’"
Unfortunately, only Kelvin was around to experience my tour de force Groundhog Day quote mash up. “See there,” I went on to explain because I knew he wouldn’t get it, “I used a quote from the movie Groundhog Day to describe the people of Punxsutawney, right now.”
Unfortunately, only Kelvin was around to experience my tour de force Groundhog Day quote mash up. “See there,” I went on to explain because I knew he wouldn’t get it, “I used a quote from the movie Groundhog Day to describe the people of Punxsutawney, right now.”
Kelvin was focusing intently on a birch near the edge of the woods. “I’ve got a woodchuck right in my sights,” he said in a highly dramatic stage whisper. “Does he see his shadow, or doesn’t he?”
I was impressed that Kelvin could do a stage whisper at all. “Okay, I get it,” I laughed. “The scene in Punxsutawney doesn’t exactly inspire you?”
“The big squirrel? Inspiring?” Kelvin actually stopped staring outside and turned to face me. He thought carefully for a moment before continuing. “I am inspired by…Mona Lisa, CurlyLou Walker, also known as Louie or Louis Armstrong, Pancho Villa, and Dingus.”
At that moment, our conversation was interrupted by a great roar from the crowd on television. A cluster of men in black top hats and tails held up a groundhog and, with great pomp and a little poem, declared that he had not seen his shadow.
“Early spring,” I observed to no one in particular. Kelvin had already bounded to the door.
The sun, brilliant against a clear, blue sky, was just peaking over the tree tops, sending the branches’ long shadows across the path outside. I don’t know what the weather was like in Punxsutawney, but if Phil had been here in Amherst, he would definitely have seen his shadow.
February 9, Snowstorm Nemo (day 2): Unaware that two feet of light, fluffy, dry snow had fallen overnight, Kelvin sailed through our sliding back door and bounded blissfully towards the yard. Had I not been clearing snow off the back porch all evening, his path would have been impeded by a wall of snow. As a result of my efforts, however, the raised porch (somewhat cleared) and the yard beyond the porch (uncleared) now appeared to be almost the same height. I really did try to warn Kelvin in that split second before he reached (but could not see) the drop off between the porch and lawn, but my words were swept away in a gust of wind. Even if I could have alerted him in a more urgent manner, a part of me wanted to see what would happen. Turns out Kelvin didn't have to see the edge to know it was there. At the porch permineter he paused ever so slightly, crouched back on his haunches, and launched himself into the air. And then he came down onto the deep blanket of snow, throwing a cloud of white into the air, and burying himself completely. It was maybe one of the funniest sights I'd ever seen, but I stifled my laughter until I had rescued my friend. And as soon as Kelvin was safely back on the porch, he turned and launched himself off it again.
It was around then that I noticed how the top of the fence around our backyard was only about a foot away from the snow covered ground, making it that much easier for Kelvin (should he so choose) to leap his way into the woods beyond. I made a mental note to take Kelvin for walks until the snow melted down a reasonable distance.
Kelvin was swimmimg in the snow. "This is amazing," he panted before clamboring back onto the porch. He found a fresh patch of porch-side snow to launch himself into, and I wondered what would happen if I did the same.
March 24:
Kelvin is pretty much fed up with me these days. Not only have I neglected to capture his many varied and pithy bits of wisdom over the past few months, but I’ve frequently left him in the care of other family members, neighbors, and friends. Yesterday, he walked into my office, sat down, and waited for me to look up from my work.
I did look up eventually, and noticed, to my surprise, that Kelvin was now sporting a jaunty green flowered scarf around his neck. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a smile. Our neighbor, who had just returned Kelvin from his walk, is fond of adding colorful accents to Kelvin’s collar, head, paws and midsection.
“Do you like my scarf?” Kelvin delivered the question with just a hint of irritation. It struck me that he had become downright masterful at conveying subtext in his dialogue, which, when you think about it, is kind of impressive for a dog who has only been speaking out loud for three months.
“Very becoming,” I replied evenly. “Very spring-like.”
“I’m not sure about it,” Kelvin tried to look down at the scarf but only ended up looking between his front legs.
“Try a mirror,” I suggested, and pointed to the full length mirror hanging down the hall. Kelvin took in his complete look for a good minute and then agreed with my first observation. “Spring-like, yes, I do look springy.” He was thoroughly pleased with himself, and I opted to let the vocabulary lesson pass.
My current work project gleamed from the computer screen, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to ignore it. “I don’t suppose you are ready for another walk?” I reached for my boots, and coat, and gloves, and hat.
Kelvin was already jumping at the door and wagging his tail. “Let’s go!”
We made our way along the snow-bordered path, past the patches of ice on the driveway, and across half-frozen puddles on the road. No buds on the trees, not even a shoot of skunk cabbage pushing up from the muddy, icy stream along the road. But just the same, spring is coming. All I had to do was look at Kelvin’s scarf to feel the warmth of the season start to permeate the frozen ground.
Kelvin Postscript
Kelvin, our surprisingly talkative, all-weather dog, is – like many other five college-affiliated residents of Amherst – on sabbatical. Whether he will return is anyone’s guess. In the meantime, you can read Kelvin’s past entries above.
February 9, Snowstorm Nemo (day 2): Unaware that two feet of light, fluffy, dry snow had fallen overnight, Kelvin sailed through our sliding back door and bounded blissfully towards the yard. Had I not been clearing snow off the back porch all evening, his path would have been impeded by a wall of snow. As a result of my efforts, however, the raised porch (somewhat cleared) and the yard beyond the porch (uncleared) now appeared to be almost the same height. I really did try to warn Kelvin in that split second before he reached (but could not see) the drop off between the porch and lawn, but my words were swept away in a gust of wind. Even if I could have alerted him in a more urgent manner, a part of me wanted to see what would happen. Turns out Kelvin didn't have to see the edge to know it was there. At the porch permineter he paused ever so slightly, crouched back on his haunches, and launched himself into the air. And then he came down onto the deep blanket of snow, throwing a cloud of white into the air, and burying himself completely. It was maybe one of the funniest sights I'd ever seen, but I stifled my laughter until I had rescued my friend. And as soon as Kelvin was safely back on the porch, he turned and launched himself off it again.
It was around then that I noticed how the top of the fence around our backyard was only about a foot away from the snow covered ground, making it that much easier for Kelvin (should he so choose) to leap his way into the woods beyond. I made a mental note to take Kelvin for walks until the snow melted down a reasonable distance.
Kelvin was swimmimg in the snow. "This is amazing," he panted before clamboring back onto the porch. He found a fresh patch of porch-side snow to launch himself into, and I wondered what would happen if I did the same.
March 24:
Kelvin is pretty much fed up with me these days. Not only have I neglected to capture his many varied and pithy bits of wisdom over the past few months, but I’ve frequently left him in the care of other family members, neighbors, and friends. Yesterday, he walked into my office, sat down, and waited for me to look up from my work.
I did look up eventually, and noticed, to my surprise, that Kelvin was now sporting a jaunty green flowered scarf around his neck. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a smile. Our neighbor, who had just returned Kelvin from his walk, is fond of adding colorful accents to Kelvin’s collar, head, paws and midsection.
“Do you like my scarf?” Kelvin delivered the question with just a hint of irritation. It struck me that he had become downright masterful at conveying subtext in his dialogue, which, when you think about it, is kind of impressive for a dog who has only been speaking out loud for three months.
“Very becoming,” I replied evenly. “Very spring-like.”
“I’m not sure about it,” Kelvin tried to look down at the scarf but only ended up looking between his front legs.
“Try a mirror,” I suggested, and pointed to the full length mirror hanging down the hall. Kelvin took in his complete look for a good minute and then agreed with my first observation. “Spring-like, yes, I do look springy.” He was thoroughly pleased with himself, and I opted to let the vocabulary lesson pass.
My current work project gleamed from the computer screen, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to ignore it. “I don’t suppose you are ready for another walk?” I reached for my boots, and coat, and gloves, and hat.
Kelvin was already jumping at the door and wagging his tail. “Let’s go!”
We made our way along the snow-bordered path, past the patches of ice on the driveway, and across half-frozen puddles on the road. No buds on the trees, not even a shoot of skunk cabbage pushing up from the muddy, icy stream along the road. But just the same, spring is coming. All I had to do was look at Kelvin’s scarf to feel the warmth of the season start to permeate the frozen ground.
Kelvin Postscript
Kelvin, our surprisingly talkative, all-weather dog, is – like many other five college-affiliated residents of Amherst – on sabbatical. Whether he will return is anyone’s guess. In the meantime, you can read Kelvin’s past entries above.
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