The snow started here yesterday. It’s a sad but expected development, and I’m grateful that the flakes didn’t fly until November 12th this year, which is at least two months later than my part of Alberta sometimes gets snow.
When I opened the back door yesterday to let Sherman out for his morning pee, he trotted toward the door as usual, and then stopped on a dime when he noticed the change in “his” property. I let him think it’s his because he does his business back there: much better than him going inside. The poor pooch looked at me, then looked at the snow, and then looked at me again. Standing in my housecoat in the open doorway, I chirped, “Sherman, get going buddy. Go be quick! Go be quick!” As much as I tried to make trotting out into the yard to sprinkle the snow sound like a good idea, he was having none of it. Smart dog. He also knew there was no way in heck I was going to head out there myself to show him how it’s done. It took a good twenty additional seconds of wheedling for me to get him outside.
Sherman’s over the snow now, and he’s begun to play in the sloppy mess that’s developed in my yard. As for me, I see nothing fun about it. Instead of ruminating over the onset of winter and dreading all the cold and snow I know will hit soon, I’m sticking my fingers in my ears, singing, “La, la, la, la, la, la!” and thinking about better days.
I’m wholly unapologetic about my dislike of the cold and ugly months. Winter can kiss my pasty white butt.
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