A new set of coyotes, four of them, have become regular visitors here. They're taller and leaner than the other pack, but with that same coyote nonchalance.

Walter and Maisie were going nuts while I got these shots, the Tiny Labrador stationed down by the fence, literally hopping (woof!) up and down (WOOF!) with impotent rage.

The coyotes ignored her, barely glanced at Walt. It wasn't until they heard the neighbor's dog, a yappy toy breed of some kind, yipping at them from her yard, that they showed any interest. One by one they sited her, sniffed the air, exchanged glances and stared.

The yappy dog suddenly stopped barking. Walter went into the house. Maisie stayed down by the fence line, but her barks no longer had the ring of conviction.

You're welcome.

Despite what the calendar says, with the Memorial Day weekend behind us summer is unofficially launched. Here in Malibu, law enforcement types celebrated by turning PCH and the canyons into one big -- and wildly successful -- speed trap. Visitors marked the turning point with the kind of reckless carefree driving usually reserved for the roundabouts of Rome. And the weather cooperated with a bit textbook May. To wit -- gray on gray with accents of gray.

Yay! Unofficial summer!

We have weather moving through, a system that could have (but didn't) drop any rain here at the coast. But with a chill (ok, 64 degrees) and scouring wind, the sky is doing that crystalline thing where colors glow and the horizon pops and everywhere you look, it's beautiful.

The little guy wants to thank you for all of your emails and hopes there's nothing too taxing on today's agenda. (And yeah, he needs a bath.)

The city wants to build ball fields here, btw.

But first -- whales! A biggish pod of them, at least four or five, swimming so close to shore -- see the baby? -- that even with the little point-and-shoot, with its time lag for focus and its time lag for the shutter click, I was able to get a shot.

And now, before the rain:

During:

And right after.

If only there were a way to share with you the heady aroma of wet dog.

Clouds rolling in:

Crows besieging a hawk perched in the eucalyptus:

Wet Walt:

Camera-shy Maisie:

And a gopher (or is it a mole?) excavating a new burrow:

Sunny to the north this morning:

But to the south, signs that weather reports are right and a storm is coming.

Welcome to one of the oddest iterations of the month of May that I can recall, where the annual morning gray turned out not to be just the low-lying marine layer but also an actual storm, with actual (and measurable -- it filled up the dog dishes on the deck) (how's that for scientific?) rain. AND rumblings of future rain the the forecast.

To celebrate, here's a shot of the post-rain Santa Monica mountain foothills in Malibu, a bit of the Backbone Trail that we walk each week. It was chilly and windy, everything rain-soaked and smelling so good.

We're into Day 3 of low clouds and low light, the annual gray of May that, considering how unpredictable our weather has been for a few years now, is a welcome return to routine.

On the beach path here this morning first you heard the surf, then you smelled it, that sweet tang of brine as good-sized sets swelled and arced and broke far from shore.

And the people were happy.

It's that time of year again when mama ducks emerge from the reeds with flotillas of adorable offspring and the exclamation mark gets a rigorous workout.

How! Cute! Are! These! Guys!