Ah, spring. The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass, the intoxicating fragrances from flower blossoms, and the warm twilight sun hanging low in the sky while a soft, cool breeze brings the first call of the tree frogs to your ears. You can really feel it, can't you? Me, not so much. That's all Mom right there. I asked her what she thought of when I said, "Spring."
"What world are you living in?" I asked incredulously, thinking about the weather we've been having these last few months. "When has that happened once so far this year?"
"You didn't say it had to have happened this year," she said defensively.
"Well, I don't remember much about last spring, so this year's all I've got, and it's not been much to write home about." But, ok. Let me try this myself. When you want something done right . . .
Ah, spring. The crack of a bat, grown ups hollering at kids, toddlers whining, and the smell of a dog poo wafting our way on a cold, damp, gusty wind.
"Gus!" Mom frowned. "That's disgusting!"
"What? We haven't had one of your soft breezes even once yet."
"Not the breeze. The poo thing is disgusting."
"Well, that's what I smell when you drag me to the ball field, and that's what spring has been to me."
You see, Big Brother is playing baseball, and a few things have come together at the same time to make this relevant in my universe.
First, Mom and Dad found out that they were inadvertently getting over on the dog camp payment policy, a sad fact that unearthed itself after a change in staff. This change required that they plan my attendance out farther in advance moving forward and switch me to a different plan. Second, this change in plan led to the decision that I would not attend every day, so several days a week, I stay home. By myself. All by myself. All day long.
"That's not 100% true," Mom said with a twinge of guilt in her voice. "Dad comes at lunch to let you out."
"Uh, sure, Mom. A 10-minute pit stop is almost exactly like me being home with someone."
But I digress. You are wondering what this has to do with Big Brother's ball games. You see, because I'm cooped up inside all day, Mom decided me going to baseball was a good way to get me some fresh air.
"It hasn't been all that bad," Mom mumbled, still clearly offended that I won't say the ball games mean more than poo smells to me or that I love being home alone. Between us - I do. I'll have to tell you about that some other time. And if I'm being honest, I'm always excited to go somewhere - anywhere - with my family, including the ball field.
"You're right, Mom," I agreed. "It wasn't your version of spring, but it hasn't been half bad. I've enjoyed all the different poo smells, dogs of all shapes and sizes being walked on the paths around the field, little kids trying to pet me, grown ups looking at me affectionately saying, 'Aw, look at the cute little dog!' That one park even had snacks - that you ate without sharing."
That was the last straw for Mom before she walked off the transcription job, and I was forced to type thses final thots out on my one. Ugh. Dog paws do not help with typos! This is going to take me forever. I meant - final thoughts on my own.
The cold wind in my bugged out eyes, the dew soaking through the towel Mom so thoughtfully brought for me to sit on - and kept making me stay on even after it was wet - and little kids very slowly eating yummy snacks two feet away would be on the down side of this ball game experience.
The best part is watching Mom get all into Big Brother's every move. That poor kid. It's great Mom is into it, but I get the sense Big Brother might like a little less attention. I try to help him out on this from time to time by wandering away from my towel or tossing a fake growl in the direction of a big dog. I've got his back. Dad should get a job as a photographer, because he takes pictures of everything Big Brother does. I'm ok sharing the limelight that has so often been mine, though. That's what brothers do for each other. Nobody thinks I'm paying attention, but I see him out there doing his thing, and I store it all up to share with my dog pals at camp. The season might be coming to an end, but I'll be ready for next season - with the hope that there might be a warm twilight sun and a soft breeze that brings the crack of the bat to my ears and a strange dog's poo to my nose.
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