Muddy Paws

I was discussing the challenges of muddy paw days.  You know, the days it's wet, muddy and miles of  paw prints are tracked through the house. Temps in the 40's, lots of melting snow, fog and drizzle + 16 big feet traipsing in and out all weekend.  I mopped twice yesterday and once today.  It was a personal record for me.  Thankfully a little dirt on the floors doesn't keep me up at night.

I know people take time to wipe paws every time they come in.  I'm not one of them.  As many times as Layla is in and out in one day I'd never get anything else done.  If they can't wipe their own paws I'm not going to do it for them.  I will say the paw prints on my white spa robe did get me a bit riled up tonight, but c'est la vie.  Or c'est la paws.  In a perfect world there would be a magic rug that sucks the dirt off and blows them dry.  Okay, I'm dreaming here.

 

Perhaps there is a lesson in muddy paws.  They, for the most part, are not afraid to get their paws wet, or muddy.  They aren't afraid to experience all the elements.  Maybe they don't know better, or, maybe they don't care.  We could learn from that.

Paws are paws.  Wet, dry, dirty or clean.  They get them where they want to go.  They are like kids and puddles.  They just can't resist.  So, while I may gripe about the tracks on the floor.  I have to remember the paws that have crossed the bridge.  In a heart beat I'd welcome the prints of Abby, Fancy, Kobe, Mr. Hanky, Maddy, Sidney, Sophie and so many others one more time.  Into each house a little mud must be tracked.  Better floors tracked with love than spotless floors that have never been touched.

Mud can be cleaned, prints erased. Except of course, those that have touched our hearts.