I find February in Quebec the toughest month of the year. It is cold, there is a ton of snow, and I'm usually very tired of being inside. This is the time of year that my mind wanders into spring, scheming up garden plans, looking forward to summer vacations and generally daydreaming. This year, it seemed to pass quickly and I'm surprised to find March right around the corner. Spring break for my kids starts next Monday and I'm looking forward to crafting and playing board games. If March flies quickly enough, April will breeze in and we'll have a new member of the family with four feet.
My father-in-law happened to be at our house the other day and we were talking about the coming puppy. He seems to have started ruminating on the idea some himself and we were looking in my big encyclopedia of dog breeds. One dog I thought he and my mother-in-law might enjoy is a bulldog. Our neighbor has one. They are adorable in a stubby, gruffy looking way. They are not overly active dogs, not too big and are friendly - requirements my parents-in-law were looking for.
My brain then mashed up thoughts of hating February's drag of wintertime and the bulldog. Voila, a Poetry Friday word is born. BULL.