Snow Is NOT For The Faint 0f Heart

This last weekend’s snow for Christmas was a wished-for event. I love snow: the way every thing is coated with beautiful white crystals; the way sound is dampened and every thing is quiet; and the snug feeling of looking out the window at the cold but beautiful white blanket. I thought that nothing could be more magical than a White Christmas.

My mistake. The first inkling that it wasn’t good was a phone call from my parents that they weren’t coming. They live about a hundred fifty miles away and they didn’t want to take a risk driving and getting stuck out somewhere. Great, I had baked a twenty-one pound turkey for five people (to include left-overs for supper and the next couple of days). Now I was stuck with more turkey than I wanted. I had also doubled all my casseroles. Again, stuck with more food than I wanted. Okay, not a problem – I could freeze the extras for later. I would miss seeing my parents but it would be best if they not take any risks getting here. Still, I wished I hadn’t made so much food.

The next thing I had forgotten was that my boys were not going to feed the horses in the morning because it was Christmas. Unless you’re ten years old, being out in the wet stuff is not fun. I trudged out in the swirling snow and immediately fell, landing on my posterior. I scrambled to my feet, looked around to see if any one had witnessed my graceful fall. Daisey, the mule, had because she wore a smile on her face. I swear it was a smile because her teeth were showing. I shrugged it off and proceeded to feed all the animals, checking water and making sure they had plenty of hay. I did all of this in wet blue jeans. The snow that clung to my clothes had melted and I was walking around in soggy pants. Great. Such fun in the snow!

Back inside, I was met at the door by a dancing Doberman. My routine, after feeding the horses, is always to walk the dogs. They expect and demand it rigorously. Okay, I would take them out but I promised them that they wouldn’t like it. I usually take them through the garage which has a dog door in the middle entrance which Mason leaps through with joyous abandon. As I was pulling my boots back on I heard a large crash and then something akin to the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles. My first thought was the mountain lion was back and, in the cold and snow, had decided Doberman was on the menu. I grabbed a hoe and went out the door, ready to defend my ninety-five pound wuss. Opening the door, the “wuss” was lying sprawled (like Bambi on the ice) with all four legs splayed in different directions. I must say I have never seen a more pitiful looking dog – his brown eyes pleading for help. I proceeded to try…we both ended up falling, again. I finally pushed him and me off the patch of ice and he scrambled up, leaving me to my own devices. Such loyalty! The walk didn’t last that long – everyone wanted back inside.

The cats, not used to being cooped up in the house were howling and demanding to be let out. I also warned them but they wouldn’t listen. Out the back door they went, across the back porch, an abrupt turn and everyone was demanding to be let back inside. One cat, my Pris, was doing this running-clawing thing on the glass as if she could dig her way back inside. So much for the howling – everyone settled down for their long winter’s nap. I never heard another thing from any of them.

The rest of the day was pretty much uneventful until I had to do the same routine again. Out in the snow, getting wet, getting cold and not enjoying it for one blasted minute. I came to a conclusion: Snow is best viewed from behind a window, holding a hot cup of cocoa.

How was your White Christmas? Did you go outside and enjoy the winter sports? Make a snowman? A snow angel? Brrrr.