Sunshine and rawhides

Springtime always seems to come late in the northwoods, and summer is practically a joke. For the first week or two of June, the heat in our house was running daily. And it rained. Cold, ice-colored rain that's really just snow in disguise. Winter never really takes a break around here.

There is, however, a very brief window of opportunity between mid-to-late June and the second or third week of August. This is what we mockingly call "summer" around here.

This is the time when everyone who enjoys such activities as gardening, hiking, camping, kayaking, rock climbing, biking, swimming, and venturing outside without fear of death from exposure gets really frantic. Like squirrels in the fall, or pundits during the last month before a presidential election, we all rush to cram a year's worth of beloved activities into a timeframe too small to hold them.

True to this tradition, I've been dragging poor Rufus around on long walks just about every day. He doesn't complain, of course, but his ears are, shall we say, very expressive.

On our way back from the coffee shop yesterday, I left him tied out front of the dollar store while I ran in real quick. I was looking for two things: a zipper for a project I'm working on, and a package of zip-ties, because zip-ties are as ubiquitous as duct tape — you've just got to have them around.

I found neither, though I did pick up a few things I wasn't expecting to find... and a package of rawhide strips. His fur was hot to the touch after five minutes of standing in the sun, peering in the automatic sliding glass doors and waiting for me. I promised never to leave him tied up in the hot sun again, and gave him a rawhide to seal the deal. So much more meaningful than shaking hands, which he only does on command.