It’s been cold here. Snowed a lot. You know, the usual for the Midwest in February. But it seems like this crazy weather – from 40 F to -2 in twenty-four hours – is a bit extreme this year. And tiresome, for sure. Dog walking in this weather is a challenge most days and third-circle-of-hellish on days like yesterday.
9:30am, I dressed in my requisite fifteen layers and headed out to clean a weekend worth of snow from my car. The small lane between my house and parking area, and the lot itself were thickly covered with snow, which, in turn, covered a nice solid layer of ice. Slip sliding away, baby.
I started the car, then brushed and scraped it off. Climbing in, I put it in reverse and – nothing. Just that dreaded vsssssssssssssh vsssssssssssssh sound of tires going nowhere fast.
Jump ahead three hours, and I’m on my knees with a spade, rock salt, and landscaping mulch trying in vain to dig out the tires and give them some traction. I was covered with snow, my jeans soaked through at the knees and ankles, and mentally running calculations on just how late I was for work. To wit: how many dogs had peed how many times in their houses, multiplied by the number who would have pooped as well, divided by those who would eat the poop, thus saving me the trouble of cleaning it up when I finally got there.
In the end, the car remained in its icy lock down, and flurry of phone calls solved all but the most immediate dog problems. I took a hot shower and ate a bowl of ramen. With little pig faces in it. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
*-D.W.W., four years old