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Fall Must Be HereOctober 19, 2005 The oaks and maples are still a deep, deep green; only the slanting light of morning and late afternoon gives them an illusory yellow tinge. There's a snap in the air, darkness is closing in from both ends of the day, and since the sun reappeared on Sunday I've only seen one local wearing shorts -- still, when I've looked at the calendar lately, my immediate reaction has been "You lie, it's not really October 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 . . ." Now I believe: Rhodry is curled up on my bed. Half the year Rhodry carries all the bedding he needs around on his back. My comforter is too warm; in summer even the utilitarian carpet is too warm, and he sprawls on the bathroom floor, the only linoleum in the apartment. When he starts sleeping on my bed, it's fall; when he stops, it's spring. He doesn't usually spend the whole night: the combination of his body heat and mine gets too warm after a while, and besides, a full-size bed doesn't leave much maneuvering room for both a human and a malamutt. In seriously cold weather, though, he leaves a welcome warm spot for me to crawl into. Better than a hot-water bottle or an electric blanket.
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