We had a snow day.
The flakes drifted down like the stuffing from the new dog bed that Molly had murdered during an idle afternoon. Soon the grass (actually the moss) was hidden under fluffy white ice, a flavorless snow cone spilled across the verdant landscape. Tree branches swept the ground like feckless housekeepers, and the power lines dipped like drunken dancers.
There are requisite actions on a snow day. You might think sledding, snowballs, and amusingly real snow people. Not in my house.
First of all, the dogs must be taken out for you-know-what. All three exploded out the door…and the two border collies paused to survey this brave new world. With ecstatic yowls they tore across the velvet wastes to add some color. Don’t eat the yellow snow.
Molly is a California girl – a Maltese, poodle, terrier mix who makes up for her petite size with world-class attitude. And having been bred and strayed across the dusty pavements of LA, she does not approve of water anywhere but in her bowl. This frozen stuff was Too Much.
She looked at my daughter; she looked at me. She uttered a protesting bark. When we did nothing, she took matters into her own paws and did her business on the porch. Then tail high, she pranced back into the house to take her frustrations out on her dog bed.
Meanwhile Emmett and Sadie zig-zagged across the landscape, dug for moles and terrorized the half-frozen birds picturesquely fighting to the death for seeds in the hanging feeders. When that sport paled, they sniffed their way across the field in search of some other hapless creature who had not had the genetic smarts to freeload. The horse in the next pasture offered some diversion by fence racing.
Barking up the neighborhood. Good times.
Meanwhile, the people in charge (me) had taken a broom to the dangerously plunging power lines. Anyone would enjoy the spectacle – me in my housecoat, wildly swinging a broom to knock off the excess snow. Getting close enough to reach up to the lines meant that said snow fell on my head and down my shirt. I shrieked and jumped…and then did it again.
A show for all appreciative neighbors – those that weren’t out doing the same.
On Facebook, I read about those happy folks making snow angels and snow men, playing family board games together while guzzling cider and hot chocolate. It was like reading about a Victorian Christmas. Delightful. Impossible.
When we finally staggered back to the warmth of the house, there were ice clumps to comb out of furry coats, water to mop up from the floor, and appointments to reschedule – I was NOT going back out there.
Finally a cup of hot coffee. Feet up. The snow is melting. The dogs want to go back outside to experience frolicking in fresh mud. The weathermen are predicting that everything will begin to freeze up overnight. Tomorrow we will be able to experience the crystalline elegance of an ice storm.