The dollhouse was almost snowed-in this weekend. For the first time in this very mild winter, we got a major dump of snow that scared folks into staying indoors and off the treacherous roads and the endless snow drifts that used to be sidewalks.
I was not amused.
For one, I hate driving in crummy weather, and yesterday’s snow on the heels of last week’s heat wave (a whopping plus three) means the streets had a foot of fresh powder on top of pavement icy enough to host a curling bonspiel.
The more pressing issue was the incredible volume of snow that fell. What you see in this photo is about 40% of what we ended up getting this weekend. (Sorry–I should have warned you to bring a barf bucket to your computer for today’s post.) Normally, The Electrician shovels for me because two bad hands do not a happy shoveler make, and because he’s a wonderful human being. In fact, snow removal is at the top of activities I’m advised to avoid by the physiotherapist: it’s too much gripping, squeezing, and hoisting for paws as ornery as mine. The Electrician was far, far away this weekend, so I was on my own. Things were looking very bleak. Apparently, white is the main colour of bleak.
I think the neighbour next door with the big diesel truck who smokes everything that’s ever roamed the earth on his back porch was feeling excited about using his very masculine, gasoline-powered snow blower; he cleared a wide swath in front of all the houses on the block. Bless his carnivorous heart. By “smokes,” I mean curing meat, not exploring the herbal offerings of nature.
At some point yesterday afternoon, faced with the options of cleaning the bathroom or marking papers, I decided to do something about my snow problem. The drifts were up to my knees and growing by the minute. If I didn’t try something to slow their progress, I’d be forced to crawl out the kitchen window once the door was blockaded by snow. I managed to find the shovel after rooting around in the backyard for the handle. Deciding it was too big for me handle without hurting myself, I forced the door open to the garage and looked for a more manageable weapon. I got snow in my right boot in the process and was feeling more than a little growly about the whole thing.
Enter SnowFox. I’d forgotten all about it, since SnowFox was part of the deal when I bought the dollhouse and The Electrician has always considered it a bit of a joke.
SnowFox is a tiny electric snowblower that plugs into a power outlet. I found enough extension cords to fire that puppy up, and discovered SnowFox was the answer to my winter prayers. I’m choosing to call her SnowFox, no article, because she’s a sudden precipitation superhero. Just like it’s “Batman,” and “Wonder Woman,” (although never together) not “The Batman” and “The Wonder Woman,” I’m referring to my pint-sized snowblower only by her heroic name: SnowFox. It also adds a little zing to things if you say it sort of sexy with one eyebrow raised; try it with me. SnowFox!
Admittedly, moving snow with this wee but (nearly) mighty machine takes some time. It only clears a path as wide as a Kleenex box with each pass, and moving the cord out of the way on each lap took some doing. Compared to the noisy, stinky snowblower run by the guy next door, SnowFox sounds like my hairdryer. But she saved the day and cleared enough snow that I could get my SUV out of the garage. Because she only flings the slow about three feet from where she’s pushed, clearing the driveway meant lots of quality time for me and SnowFox.
The only problems with superheroes are their bossiness and lack of clarity, not to mention the incredible danger that follows them everywhere. Check out the hieroglyphics that instruct users how best to manage SnowFox’s (nearly) incredible powers. It’s okay if you’re scared enough by her awesomeness that you pee a little: I won’t tell.
Its seems, that since with great power comes great responsibility, I am in great danger when the weather forces me to unleash SnowFox. I must be very careful, or I could inadvertently shrink all the books in my house. Hamsters will be spun forcefully from their exercise wheels if SnowFox, a natural predator of rodents as all foxes are, is turned loose in the neighbourhood. It is possible tidal waves of cherry Kool-Aid could corrode the tops of my best shoes and somehow cause all my pants to become pedal pushers. As if all those outcomes aren’t terrifying enough, I could be forced into a speed skating battle with ninjas who have the ability to fling super bouncer balls at me on the ice, simply because SnowFox’s (nearly) stunning power could upset the whole balance of the universe.
Finally, and perhaps the most horrifying warning of all, is the possibility that SnowFox could take over my body like a Transformer takes over an unoccupied sports car, making me into some sort of wintery mermaid with my regular upper body and a snowblower for legs. In this heinous outcome, I would be forced into solitude, a hermit so frightening that all other human beings, adults and children alike, will want nothing to do with me.
Thankfully, The Electrician is back from his boys’ weekend away, and he has already offered to shovel my snow in perfect safety tomorrow. I’m relieved, since I’m sure I heard SnowFox growling at me when I got into my Element this afternoon.
copyright 2012: http://bluespeckledpup.com