Scruffy

If you had a deer as a pet, what would you name it?

Bambi? Of course. There are other possibilities. Faline. Santa's reindeer names.

Descriptors always work. Lithe, Sleek, Pretty, Brave Boy (or Brave Girl--it's hard to tell until they get antlers, or don't), Piggy, Little One. Or, if you go by what they best like to eat, Rhubarb and Day Lily and Rotting Grapes.

Chances are, you wouldn't name a deer "Scruffy."

However, these days, that's the best descriptor. It's shed-the-winter-coat season. Of course, you wouldn't be able to tell Scruffy apart from Scruffy Too, Three, Four, and so on up through Seven, who have been hanging in the back 40 off and on this week.

I wonder if Scruffy Times N are shedding a bit prematurely. I keep adding layers of clothing, but mostly because the view out every window is one of cold grayness.

The weather system currently moving through can't quite decide if it wants to be rain or snow. The thermometer seems stuck around melting/freezing/whatever. Snow lingers back in the bush and under overhanging branches, but most of the ground is clear (and greening over the mud).

Days like today, April looks a lot like November. Like it could use a good exfoliation. You know. Scruffy.