Of Dog Days and Rain Lilies

Every day, usually between the hours of 3 and 6 pm, my husband and I take our dogs for a walk. But if the clock strikes 4 and we still haven't made a move to go, the dogs will begin a campaign of auditory torture to tell me it's that time.

Roscoe is our 10-year-old, 85-lb lab/border collie mix that spends most of his time sleeping somewhere within 5 square feet of wherever I am. However, at the same time each day, he will suddenly awaken, become aware of the position of the sun and instinctively realize that we will soon be taking a W-A-L-K, so-named because uttering the full word in our house often results in that particularly destructive kind of doggie hysteria. At that time, he will execute an extremely exaggerated yawn, exposing the cavernous pink interior of his maw while uttering a loud, drawn-out noise that begins at the bottom of his register and travels nearly three octaves up to an exceedingly high pitch. He will then slowly stand up and, after stretching his legs for a moment, will stick his rear in the air, dip his chest to the floor and emit a long, low, bass-filled, wine-glass-rattling groan. He completes this daily ritual with a tremendous shake of his head that slaps his metal dog tags against the metal on his collar, creating a sound intended to wake the dead or any infant within a two block radius. 

Roscoe, King of the Couch

Daisy, our 3-year-old pure-bred border collie, is slightly more subtle. She approaches and stands a short distance away, staring intensely with a slow but constant wag of her tail. When you look at her, she will quite consciously lift up her lips and plaster her best impression of a human smile on her face. If, after a time, you have still not made your way toward the leashes, she will aim her cold, wet nose at any small bit of exposed flesh on your body and proceed to butt that flesh every 3.4 seconds until you acquiesce.

Daisy the Super Puppy, in the early days

First, let me just say that I have no earthly idea how we ended up with not one, but two dogs named for Dukes of Hazzard characters. Believe me, it was not intentional. Roscoe was already named when we got him and we just thought "Daisy" was a pretty name. That aside, they do on occasion cut me some slack when I'm in the middle of a big project or a tight deadline, but for the most part, this ritual occurs on a daily basis.

Today, as we traversed our usual route through the neighborhood, I noticed a new addition to the landscape. Wildflowers had sprung up in nearly every yard. "Rain lilies," my husband said. "They come out after a storm."

Perhaps you're aware that this has been a very tough summer in Texas. We experienced the hottest summer in recorded history with more than 50 days over 100 degrees. The thermometer reached 110 several days in a row, which may not be unusual in Phoenix, but here it's quite the exception. And now, nearly every lawn bears the dry, yellow St Augustine that proves yet another owner was unwilling or unable to shoulder a $450 monthly water bill just to keep it green.

Fortunately, the serious heat ended a couple weeks ago and a few days ago, we had an amazing storm. According to weather reports, it dumped rain on downtown Dallas at a rate of nearly 6 inches an hour. Like they say, when it rains, it pours.

As we walked the dogs this afternoon, it occurred to me that this little stretch of weather mirrored our economic climate this year.  The freelance business has been feast or famine, drought or flood the whole summer long. One new member of the Giant Noodle network said it best. "It seems like I'm only getting booked maybe one week a month, but that week, I'm double-booked." 

So today, I'm taking a minute to stop and admire the rain lilies. I'm giving thanks for all of the new people I've met and the new members we have due to the unpredictability of our current extremes. We now count almost 60 freelancers in the network, which I suspect is due to the fact that this summer, it's taken twice as much effort to get half as many projects, and then all of those projects come at once. Although I'm sure some jackass from AgencySpy would comment that he's been booked solid since April at $2k a day, I predict that when we look back at it, many of us will remember this summer as a series of long droughts punctuated by random flash flooding. 

But right now, all I can see are the rain lilies rising from the battered earth, survivors still holding their heads high just to spite the storm.  It makes me proud. And I am incredibly proud to be among them.

Now you'll have to excuse me.  The dogs tell me it's time for frisbee.

Rain lilies in the yard