Warmer weather has been moving in, with daytime highs hitting the 50's most days now. I was out inspecting the yard (ALL 80+ fish survived!) and while uncovering Faith's private pansy stash I found an expired rodent a few inches away. At first I thought, "Poor little fella," because of course I didn't consider that it might have died at a ripe old age, fulfilled and ready to move on.

At the very least it doesn't appear that the cat was to blame.

Zeke has been ill for the past week, which serves to remind us that he won't be around forever. Like the mouse, we each have our seasons and they go by at a rate and quality appreciated only by the individual. How full is a dog's life? What adventures and joys are found in hyper-speed mouse scrabblings? We ponder a guess based on tangibles familiar to us: steady food, number of walks, maybe wag to groan ratios. Considering how hard it is to faithfully judge our own happiness and self-worth what chance have we with understanding the fullness of a mouse or dog's life?

Not to say that all of this flashed into mind while bent over the dead mouse, but I was captivated by the hands and it filled my head with more thoughts than seeing the delicate bloom beside it.