Summer finally arrived in Connecticut yesterday. We’ve had the wettest, coldest spring since I moved here, almost seven years ago. Everything is a month behind. The honeysuckle is just now in full bloom, the grass still long and green, and I haven’t had to water my pots until yesterday. But today the dogs are panting even at rest, not used to the heat and humidity, their bodies covered in winter coats. I tried to brush Hank last week, but not enough hair came off him to make it worth doing. He loves being brushed so much he won’t stay still, lurching around and groaning in ecstasy. But yesterday the heat must have loosened up his undercoat because I filled a whole bag with fur before we both had to stop and rest from the physical exertion.
Later I had a friend to dinner and we sat outside to eat. I watched him take a bite out of the potato salad I had made and pull one of Hank’s long black hairs from the side of his mouth. “Sorry,” I said, shrugging. He’s not really an animal person. Meanwhile Hank was lying on his left foot, Charlie was underneath the table with her nose next to his right toe, and Sugar was sitting Sphinx-like on the deck railing within arms reach of his right hand, the tip of her tail twitching as she watched the birds on the lawn. I left the rabbit inside on purpose.
My three older brothers and I grew up surrounded by dogs, cats, various rodents, reptiles, birds, and the accoutrements of horses that I would bring home from the barn to wash. The youngest of my brothers once had a girlfriend who commented, a bit fastidiously, on the ever-present animal fur swirling around in our house in gobs of dust bunnies so large they looked like small animals themselves. “I’ve had dog hair in my clothes for as long as I can remember,” he said to her warningly, “even the clean ones.”
As the food on our plates diminished, Hank got up with a worried look on his face. “Down,” I commanded. He pretended not to hear me and shook his whole body instead. Black hair floated up onto our plates and saliva sprayed onto my friend’s bare legs.
“More wine?” I offered.
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