My dog, Piper, lives to go play fetch on the beach. Rain, shine, snow — you name it, she’s raring to go. And not only does Piper run up and down the cold wet sand, but she will gleefully lay down in the crashing waves each and every single month of the year.
That fur coat can only go so far. The rest of it must be sheer enthusiasm. While three humans stand there and shiver in the wind, she and her friend Bacon fetch again and again.
We do this year round, usually every Saturday morning and occasional holidays. I am not as enthusiastic as Piper, however.
I loathe winter.
My Facebook Friends are accustomed to seeing daily posts on my wall, counting down the number of days until Spring. (We are down to 78, in case you are wondering.) I hate the cold. I hate the driving. I hate the walking. I hate the dark. Winter and I are not friends.
But this year I am feeling somewhat sheepish about my attitude, thanks to my reading of one Henry David Thoreau, especially after reading this passage from his Journals, dated August 23, 1853:
“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each. … Open all your pores and bathe in all the tides of Nature, in all her streams and oceans, at all seasons.”
So today I bundled up and headed off to the beach, put on a brave face, and tried to muster as much enthusiasm as possible. But …
Really, Henry? Really?