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You know the earlier blog that I wrote about snow not being magical? Well, I have to take it back. It’s snowing here. Snowing enough that I was reminded of snow in northern Indiana where I grew up. Since we don’t get much snow here I wanted Pippin to experience it. He’s only two, and still very much a puppy. They’re predicting between two and four inches, so it may be the biggest snowfall of the year here. So out we went. I didn’t make Jon come with us because he’s my tropical Viking, not my winter warrior. I got out from the house only a little and realized I needed something to protect my eyes from the blowing snow, so I went back for glasses. Richard, our friend and personal asssstant, was suited up for winter and wanted to come with. I didn’t argue, though I thought volunteering for the snow was a little, well, odd. I wasn’t looking forward to it. But out we went. Rapidly I remembered that with a scarf up, glasses fog and you can’t see. About half way through the mile, or so, I remembered how to not look directly at blowing snow, and look both down and up. The snow was falling very fast, and the wind had it an an angle that was just right to hit the face. It wasn’t as cold as yesterday, but it was still cold. Richard was downright cheerful about the whole thing. I admit, I was not. But it was impossible to be glum with Pip enjoying the snow so much. He galloped in it, licked it, played with it, and when his feet got cold, he pulled harder to go faster, further. He is half boxer and one quarter Brittany, which means he’s a tougher customer outside than the pugs. Sasquatch has wanted nothing to do with the walks since it got really cold. Pip’s prints were his paws, the leash sweeping the snow periodically because he was coming in and out (he courses a field naturally) and his tongue in a long wiggly line. I’d love to know what a tracker would have made of it. by the time we got back to the house my hair was wet with snow. Richard and I had so much snow on our hats, scarves, coats, that we had to shake them out and put them in the bathroom to dry out. We got to do that boot shake-stamp at the porch to get the shoes clean. We spent most of the talk discussing winters we’d experienced. I told my story about getting lost in a snow storm with my dog, King, one memorable winter in Indiana. He weighed about sixty, sixty-five pounds, and was injured, and just refused to move. Too cold. I could carry him, but not through waist deep snow, not for long. We made it back alright, with very minor frostbite. But I still remember the moment when the world went white, and though I knew we were in an open field surrounded by houses, I could see nothing but the snow. I realize that I’ve never liked winter as well since that year. But it was that moment. That moment when I realized that the snow could kill me, that if I chose the wrong direction we could walk out into the fields past the houses, and truly be in serious trouble. I also wouldn’t leave my dog, and I couldn’t carry him through the snow. I got frostbite taking off my gloves and warming his injured leg with my hands and breath, so he would limp with me. But I did it, while waiting for the snow to stop long enough for me to know which direction I needed to walk. So close to home. Minutes before I could see my house, then whoosh, and the world was white. Hell, even my dog was white, but not as white as that snow.
But we made it back and we were okay, and by spring King’s injured leg was fine. I did physical therapy with him and walked him every morning before class. He’d been shot by a neighbor, that’s how we inherited him. The parents of the cousin who owned King told me that they’d take him into the woods and shoot him rather than do the physical therapy. He was just a dog. My grandmother and I had paid for his surgery and a metal pin being put in his leg. I’d found him shot, and threatened to kill my neighbor. If it had been a Matlock, or Murder She Wrote, episode he’d have come up dead and me being a suspect, but in real life nothing happened to him, because we hadn’t witnessed it. He intimidated the only witness we had, and that was the end of it. But I drove up with the dog from the vet’s and my grandmother’s first question was, “Why are you putting that dog in my new garage?” She’d waited years for a garage to be put on the house for the car I drove. I told her why I’d brought King home, and she didn’t argue. We liked the dog.
All this to say that I’m excited about the snow. No one in the house has to drive anywhere in it. Though the local schools are closing and we’re waiting to hear about Trin’s. DANSE MACABRE is in a huge box on my other desk, and all I have to do today is sit at my desk, watch the snow, and edit. Cool. I can see the bird feeders from my windows, and the heated birdbath. A very big hit right now. This morning when Gary dropped Trin off there was a large hawk in the magnolia tree. We think a rough-legged, or broad-shouldered. Trin spotted it first, and I only figured out why they weren’t coming inside when I saw them creeping around the edge of the yard and Gary pointing upward. It flew just over my head, a dark and pale flash bigger than most of our dogs. A good day to make friends again with the snow.
Richard’s just brought up a fresh cup of tea, so it’s time to get editing. If the weather doesn’t get too bad Keath, our personal trainer, is coming today, so I better get busy.