I've never given much thought to the four seasons. They don't require much thought, really, they just happen, one right after the other. But having Ray does make one think about things from a slightly different perspective.
The current season, spring, especially gets me thinking about how adaptable is a blind dog. I cannot imagine what it must be like to deal with such a rapidly changing environment without having a thought process to decipher and understand it. I realize that every season has its challenges, but spring for a blind dog must be particularly confusing.
My mind boggles at the thought of navigating through a backyard that erupts into a mess of perennials that grow, bloom, and die within a couple of months. Well-memorized paths change from clear-sailing to creepily narrowed by daffodils that mysteriously appear and then disappear. Familiar mud changes to spongey ground covers with ankle-tickling flowers. Zoomy bees appear out of nowhere. Large swaths of bare ground become covered by a variety of two-foot-tall vegetation. Stuff is, all of a sudden, everywhere.
Spring is a bit of a conundrum for Ray. It presents a challenge but, as always, there is a definite upside; along with the nice weather and the emergence of plant-life comes the emergence of people. Yesterday, it took Ray and I an hour to walk around the block. A good percentage of that time was dedicated to Ray getting bellyrubs from his various friends.
So if one was to ask Ray his favorite season, I'm fairly confident that he would reply: "It's the confusing one with all the bellyrubs." Because, in the end, what matters the most to Ray is not the obstacles but the contentment that comes from lying in the warm sunshine on a nice day getting a good bellyrub.