Dozer, sweet Dozer, that brawny brawling bruiser of our puppy duo, must have a smidge of romance tucked under his rough-house looks and fierce demeanor, for he was smitten by the bouquet of Valentine roses that I threw into our garden plot yesterday. He could have selected orange peels, onion skins, or egg shells from among my discards. Instead he chose to retrieve blossoms, still beautifully pink, but sadly wilted. He carried them to our much-used trail that runs through the shelter belt from the house to the corrals. And there, he scattered petals, transforming our deep-packed trudge-way into a magical path shimmering with icy crystalline air and promising adventure with a rosy sprinkle underfoot. How lovely. Certainly my nighttime forays at 11, 2, and 5, checking imminently due cows and ewes, would have been improved by balmy temperatures—anything warmer than negative 14—but Dozer's petals on my path provided a warm glow. "Thanks you big blustery marshmallow for a favorite February memory."
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