Hello from the land of furries, flurries, and worries. Or, to be less succinct, of dogs everywhere, snow that won't stop blowing about, even though it is supposed to be spring, and the foul moods that can be borne of spring not coming, of suitcases still not unpacked because we are feeling the need to work every spare moment, because of that clenched-gut feeling one gets when one begins to suspect their job may be in jeopardy. Oh, we are fine, not to worry, and we have been preparing for the possibility, even counting on it, but still, now that it may be on our doorstep... the worry wrinkles can't help but deepen just a bit.

The numbers are in, to the tune of a substantial loss of income for the company we work for. Tourist numbers are diminished, several of our owners have gone into foreclosure, and while it is by no means the end of us or this company, we also work for the man... who may have done this property management thing for so many years, he is thinking how great life might be without it. Oh, we're committed through next winter, and after that, probably until he has sold off his condos, so we have another year (at least) of full-time work. Or more, if the boss decides he still wants to do this, in spite of a much smaller profit margin. It all depends on him. But after that, we ask ourselves... after that...

Maybe we will go to southwest Florida. They say housing is cheap down there now, with the recession hitting tourism hard. I could do home health care, utilize my CNA again, and care for some sweet, white-haired old timer, or maybe scrape barnacles from boats (that seems like a nice, low-stress job) or something else on the water that pays little, but demands little. And B can repair things, or mow lawns, or find a hotel to manage. B likes it there. I say, maybe not my first choice, looking at my skis propped in the corner...not as many recreation options in a climate that stays hot and muggy, but we have a philosophy that we believe leads to contentment in "whatsoever state"-home is where your job is. And there, I could grow green, edible things again, unlike here with it's three seasons, summer not being one of them.

I must admit to falling even more in love with the mountains in the last two years. With these people who do not consider a walk around the neighborhood to be exercise at all, but must go climb mountains, ride rivers, who cannot simply ride bike, but must ride bike out in the middle of nowhere, over obstacles and through water and under towering trees or rock walls, and who do all this at warp speed, stopping only to drink in a beautiful view and a few swallows from a water hose sprouting from a backpack before setting off again.

And I know I have commented before on the dog population of Summit County, but I am now involved in it... and am overwhelmed by the sheer time and devotion people give their four-legged soulmates. Yes, soulmates, to hear most of them talk. Dogs spend so much time off-leash here, but are still so well-behaved. They are a skinny, sinewy lot, like their owners, and cover miles and miles every day, side by side. They sleep in their owners beds. They share their owner's food and drink from the same camelbak bite-valve. And now that the weather is approaching warmer in spite of the wind and the sticky, impossible snow that falls every weekend, then melts before it can be put to good use, and the trails are slush and mud, the roadsides crawl with these hearty duos and trios. Every walk we take, Andy and I fall into step with other people and other dogs, hear their stories, training tips, crazy experiences.

Obedience training has begun in earnest for the yellow beast now asleep under my chair. Yesterday, I swung by the pet supply in Frisco and picked up a prong collar- a contraption that looks a bit like a medieval torture device, but, when applied correctly, delivers a well-timed "nip" around the neck of a misbehaving dog, using a slightly pinching pressure that mimics a mother dog's mouth on a pup's neck- a language that dogs are far more fluent in than the yelling, screaming, pulling, begging, pleading, petting, bargaining, and other ways in which frustrated owners try to get Barky to behave. We have had two sessions already-one last night, and one this morning, and we are all relieved to report that the medieval torture device works- and apparently, works without traumatizing the yellow beast, since throughout both training sessions his ears have settled into a submissive, relaxed state, and his tail has retained it's relaxed, happy wave. He actually seems much more at ease now that corrections can be administered without scare tactics, just a quick, slightly traumatic pop on his leash, and quite attentive to whatever we might wish for him to do. So far, his only requirement is to walk at my left side, walk forward when my left leg swings forward, stop when my left leg stops, and upon stopping, tuck himself into a sitting position and wait for further instruction. As the puppy class being taught in Frisco advances, and my friend continues to attend, then report what is being taught, we will also advance, without having to pay nearly $200 for an obedient puppy. At least that is what I am hoping. If we do not glean as much as we hope from Raisin's new-found obedience, and her mommy's new training methods, we may attend the next class after all.

And now, I must hurry along. Another day, another condo in need of a deep clean. In spite of the aforementioned worries, and need to work while we still can, I am now realizing that I have stolen quite a leisurely morning, here at the computer. i could have been unpacking, doing laundry, any number of productive things that do not promote the flowing of time-consuming creative juices, but instead, here I am. I shall have to really make things fly the rest of the day to make up for it.