“Spring is a straggly season,” I observed, as Pep and I poked around the yard. She was the one doing the actual poking – under every bush – looking for rabbit nests (while I kept a watchful eye). “The grass is patchy. The daffodils are spent. Weeds thrive, mushrooms persist, the sweet little violets are everywhere. The pin oak clings to its dead leaves while the cherry’s about …