A seasonal delight at this time of year is the opportunity to scrunch through piles of dead leaves. Scrunch is a special word which describes the noise produced by hard things being pressed together. To make that noise the leaves must be dry, and our recent lack of rain is useful here. The leaves must also be curly, they won’t have that crunchy sound if they are flat on the ground.
Last week I enjoyed scrunching my way past Victoria Square:
Today I’ve been scrunching along Bealey Avenue.
Where have you been scrunching lately?
It’s satisfying when you scrunch
to hear those crisp dry leaves go crunch
Ruth's Reflections 
Kicking up leaves is one of life’s simple pleasures.
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Or even just stomping through them.
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Jessie, my small grey and black husky, loved scrunching in the leaves in Heathcote Valley. Each autumn we’d walk down into the valley. We’d slowly approach the oak trees in their multi coloured display, red, gold, auburn, and watch leaves spiralling down in the light nor-easterly breeze.
Jess approached the thick layers, pushing her black shiny nose through them. She’d then roll over and over in delight. Frosty, my big Siberian husky, followed, shovelling, digging, and snuffling joyfully. They would do the same up in the grounds of the hospital in Hanmer Springs- a cautious approach, then exuberant scrunching.
Huskies cannot be off the lead- they run away- bred to hunt for themselves. But their leads never tangled. A crippled dog, Jessie never let this get in the way of her joy of scrunching.
Here in Wellington, the change in seasons is upon us, this Easter Sunday. Leaves are turning brittle on the oaks in Glover Park, soon to accumulate in their drifts on the dried out grass and concreted levels.
Frosty has been inspecting them. It’s not thick or deep enough yet. Jess is at his shoulder, urging him on, her spirit showing in her shiny nose, as she burrows. We miss her courage, her determination, her ability to rise above her pain and disability. She passed in her sleep, with three deep breaths- scrunching leaves happily in her final doggy dream.
Frosty is stiff, and carries his 13 years bravely- we will enjoy his scrunching and always and in all ways, remember them. He is watching me as I write, and lies his head down, to dream his own dreams.
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A lovely portrait of happily scrunching huskies. RIP Jessie.
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