The morning is lovely. It is winter warm with a bright sun and a clear blue sky. A slight breeze moves only the thinest branches of the pine trees. Earlier, the dogs were out in the yard chasing each other. Tongues were hanging out when they came back inside the house. Henry is having his morning nap. He is exhausted from running in the backyard and barking from the front door at anything moving on our street. He doesn’t discriminate.

When I was a kid, we celebrated Washington’s birthday, his actual birthday. Later, Lincoln’s birthday got in on the action. Now it is Presidents’ Day honoring all of them. My flag is waving.

This week was February vacation when I was a kid. We never went anywhere. Family vacations were summer affairs so I had to find ways to fill the week and amuse myself. If it was cold enough, I’d go ice skating. If it was warm enough, I’d ride my bike. If I was bored, I’d watch television or read in the quiet of my bedroom. This week always seemed to move quickly. School weeks never did.

Most things are out of Nala’s reach now so she is getting desperate and extending her territory. Last night, TP was all over the hall. Nala had trashed picked from the bathroom basket. This morning she chewed a pencil into tiny pieces on the door mat. She stole that from the table here in the den. Now I have to hide my pens and pencils.

My school in Ghana had a night watchman. He used to sleep with his dog beside him under a tree. He had a lit lantern and sometimes lit a small fire to keep himself warm during the harmattan. He closed the front gate when it got dark. I sometimes was in town with friends so the gate was closed when I got back to school. From outside the gate I could see the watchman sleeping, and I could hear his dog barking at me. I yelled, “Watchman, Watchman,” over and over. He never moved. Most times I ended up climbing the gate into the school. My students told me I was being ignored on purpose because he didn’t want get up. I never solved that problem. I did wonder if he let thieves in as easily especially after my house was robbed.

My dance card has a few entries this week. I have a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. On Tuesday night is uke practice, and Wednesday morning is my lesson. We’re practicing Irish as we have a concert and a parade celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in March. The rest of my week is wide open. I’m thinking I’ll do a few odd house chores like cleaning my bedroom closet floor and polishing the silver. Notice I haven’t mentioned the laundry.

Last night was so cold I gasped for breath when I went outside. The relentless wind made it feel even colder. My car couldn’t warm up fast enough. My fingers were so cold I held them against the heater vent.

On the ride to my friend’s for dinner, I saw even more houses lit up against the darkness. In one front yard a huge fir tree was ablaze with colored Christmas bulbs. It was the brightest spot on the road. I decided I’d light my colored bulbs tonight.

Every morning my newspaper is either on the walkway or on the front step. I didn’t know who to thank for tossing my paper into the yard until this morning. I was up early and went to get my paper. I jumped when I looked up and saw an unexpected person by my car with my paper in hand. She was dressed in the brightest lime jacket with black lines. I went to chat and to thank her. In the course of our conversation she told me her age, 91. She wears a Fitbit and counts her steps. She figures she walks about two miles every day. The woman is extraordinary.

My house got TP’ed yesterday afternoon, inside. I was at my computer and was totally oblivious as to what was happening. When I got up, I saw my hall floor was covered in shredded toilet paper. My living room too had shredded toilet paper but mostly on the rug. I went upstairs to check, and my bedroom had TP on the bed and floor. As for the culprit, I knew right away Miss Nala had been enjoying herself. She had stolen a roll of paper from the bathroom counter, far back on the counter, or at least I thought so. Miss Nala made hay, so to speak, while I was otherwise occupied.

Our dog Duke was a roamer in the days before leash laws. He was the dog who followed kids to the East School and then followed us to St. Pat’s. My father would call for him, and Duke would ignore him. My father, in his fury at being ignored, would jump into his car and chase Duke. Sometimes he caught him.

Duke and his son Sam wandered all over town. Sam was a silly boxer who smiled. The two of them were marauders known around the neighborhood. One time my father had to get the two of them after a neighbor called and claimed she was being held hostage by the two dogs outside her house. They would not leave when she yelled. In her house was a dog in heat, and both Sam and Duke were hopeful for a future relationship. My father got Sam easily, but Duke was evasive. My father got apoplectic. Once Sam was captured, Duke decided to listen and got into the car. Sam was delivered to his home first. My father dropped Duke off then left immediately for work. He was running late. Duke was a wily opponent who usually won every stand-off. I have boxers with all their peculiarities because of Duke. He was the best dog.