I have just just settled down in my favorite chair for one of my favorite British comedies, when my big old dog stands tall between me and the screen and bullies me into taking him outside for you-know-what. As usual, his timing is impeccable and maddening; and as usual I grab my jacket and follow him out the door, more than a little grouchy at him for the interruption.
While he takes care of his designated business, I glance up at the night sky and my mood changes. Since dawn, we've been in the midst of a February thaw---the first night in a long time that hasn't frozen my eyeballs with temps in the teens, or below.
Now the air is fresher and softer, and the clouds are scudding swiftly across the sky's surface, pushed along by lively western winds, and a big, nearly-full moon is playing peekaboo with me! His man-in-the-moon face seems to be smiling at me; maybe even winking; and I'm smiling back.
It's the sort of thing this sky person loves, and very rare this time of year. I've forgotten all about my TV show, until my crotchety old dog comes out of the darkness and nudges me firmly toward the house.
I should give him a piece of my mind; HE'S not the leader of this pack. But I know I owe him for this unexpected gift. Without him, I wouldn't have known the moon was out tonight; I thought it was raining.
R.A.T. (Rose About Town) bids you goodnight, from a better frame of mind.