I found the last of the snow hiding in the shadows like a Chicago Republican. The only people thinking about snow right now are our neighbors in the great white north: Hardrock, Coco, and Joe. I know that I was just lamenting our latest snow fall. Well, welcome to spring in Cleveland. Once the snow melts we enter mud season. The people at the garden center tell us that the clay that passes for topsoil in these parts is what we get for being at the bottom of the last glacier. I nod my head in agreement and silently wonder what thats all about. There are pools of water in the shape of my boots all over the back yard.
The boys love this kind of weather. All the new fresh smells in the yard that need investigating keep them busy for hours. Fred thinks about squirrels like the John Birch society thinks about communists. They are everywhere and a threat to his way of life. He has never met a squirrel he hasn't wanted to chase. He just can't figure out how to climb trees. Bob just wants to hang out on the picnic table playing king of the hill.