Ivan, Starving Orphan Dog

  
   It’s spring. Our neighborhood is full of green, green leaves and green grass. Green grass that everyone feels compelled to mow at least a couple of times a week, as though they’ve missed mowing grass, a concept I can’t quite embrace, no matter how much I love spring. All that grass mowing means there are lots and lots, as in remarkably plentiful, grass clippings along the curb, clumps of them, along every street. It’s a smorgasbord of meadow delights, all that fresh, tender green grass within easy access for my grazing boy. Ivan loves to reach out and grab mouthfuls of grass.  A lack of grass clippings does not stop Ivan from foraging. He’s also happy to grab mouthfuls of grass, roots and all, from lawns as we stride by.

     He wolfs down foliage as though he’s a starving orphan dog scrounging in the gutter for scraps. I used to worry the neighbors would think we didn’t feed our Munchkin boy, and instead forced him to scavenge for dried earthworms and fermenting vegetation. Meanwhile, Ivan keeps munching grass. He trots happily down the street with blades of grass sticking out of the side of his mouth as though he’s on Grandma and Grandpa’s farm chewing on a sprig of hay.