Something unusual woke me up this morning. It was very bright, warm, noisy and - 'sniff, sniff' - it had the definite scent of Forsythia in bloom. Yes! It's spring! I hopped out of bed and threw the curtains back. As I slid the window open the fullness of this beautiful morning presented itself like a water color painting. The tender hints of color began to show themselves last week, but this ...truly the Sun god bought the early blooms out in full dress. The rest of my plants and leafy things will follow soon, but this lovely display reawakens the memory of last spring and the joy it bought.

Still not completely awake, I hurried to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee and dropped an English muffin in the toaster. Then I returned to the bedroom and whipped all the covers off the bed to let the sun freshen them up. By now I was feeling awake enough to get into my old garden duds, pull on a pair of rubber boots and grab the sunglasses. Can you believe that? Sunglasses! Now, with my coffee and English muffin slathered with plum jam, I settled myself at the patio table. Armed with some of the things I hold most dear to my heart, I sipped the coffee and enjoyed the view of my garden in bloom.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something else very dear to my heart. Trotting down my driveway was my old friend Sarge, come for one of his 'whenever he feels like it' visits. I laughed and called him, and with a cheery wave of his tail he sprang onto the deck and greeted me with a friendly slurp, and a grateful chomp of the remains. No one seems to own Sarge, and I think he really owns himself. Most people are happy to have him visit (except for the chicken incident, but we won't go into that). Having finished our breakfast, Sarge and I decided to take a tour of the garden and have a closer inspection. I leaned into the yellow Forsythia bush and took in a long smell, and so did Sarge. Other bushes were laden with masses of white petals, and blue Forget-Me-Knots fanned across the lawn. As we walked, stopping here and there to comment on this or that, Sarge suddenly poked his head up and sniffed the air with some enthusiasm.

"What is it boy?" I asked him, and I swear that dog can talk just using his expressive face. His eyes were bright, and if a dog can grin, he did. He gave me another friendly lick, and headed down the driveway with a quick, determined trot. He picked up speed as he reached the road, and with a happy 'see ya later' yap, he was gone. I sat back down at the table and enjoyed the last of the coffee while I tried to understand what was going on in his head.

Hmmm ... Spring, birds singing, flowers, lovely scents on the breeze.... Oh! Sarge is in love, or will be shortly! If you remember Sarge from previous articles you'll know that he has an amorous streak. Actually, he is more known as the Maurice Chevalier of dogs on the island. There are many pups and dogs that have a resemblance to Sarge, one trait or other.

Late that evening I was watching Casablanca, and working my way through a very small box of chocolates. With a few courteous scratches at the door, a tired yet contented looking Sarge let himself in the front door, and flopped down on the carpet in front of the fire. He gave me a sheepish smile, accepted a biscuit, promptly fell asleep, and stayed the night. Every now and then I could hear his happy dog rumblings as he reminisced in his sleep. He was gone in the morning, as I knew he would. I took my coffee outside to admire the new world again. I marvelled at how the earth renews itself, reinvents and inspires us.

It's true that Mother Nature does some wonderfully creative things. And so does my friend Sarge.