Not your usual unit of snow measurement
Just when I thought I asked so little of my dogs, out of nowhere, something comes along to remind me that I do, indeed, ask great things of them.
OK, this epiphany didn't exactly come out of nowhere. It came out the sky. And it came unremittingly overnight. And then it came some more.
Snow.
More than a half-foot of the white stuff blanketed my backyard today. I'm guessing it was more like eight inches. I can't say for sure.
My dogs can.
If they could speak -- and by speak I mean something slightly more coherent than the gutteral noises emitted by guy who works at the local gas station -- they undoubtedly would inform me of exactly how much snow we received. But they probably wouldn't tell me in terms of a unit of measurement.
Unless, of course, that, um, unit, is, uh, their, um, units.
Yep, we have enough fresh snow to make even the most routine practices uncomfortable for my dogs. One of them, anyway.
The shorter one.
Poor pooch didn't want to leave the porch this morning to do his business. Initially, I couldn't figure out what was keeping him planted within the bare confines of the three-season porch. It wasn't the cold. It was warmer today than it has been in some time. And it couldn't have been the snow. He loves snow. At the very least, he tolerates it very well.
Eventually, he ventured out into the snow. Slowly. Carefully. With all the deliberate movement of a cat burglar.
It was then that I figured it out. The snow measured plumbing-deep to him. He couldn't move through it without experiencing a nippy sensation in a place no male ever wants to be chilled. It was like he was dragging a periscope through the snow.
My other dog, well, he was more fortunate. He stands a few inches taller. Just enough for his plumbing to narrowly clear the height of the snowfall. He went about his business as usual.
I was glad to see him do that. Not half as much as his brother was, however. He allowed the big dog to clear a path for him before he proceeded any farther into the yard.
Made me think that maybe I do expect my dogs to do some rather uncomfortable things.
I promise never to complain about a cold toilet seat ever again.
OK, this epiphany didn't exactly come out of nowhere. It came out the sky. And it came unremittingly overnight. And then it came some more.
Snow.
More than a half-foot of the white stuff blanketed my backyard today. I'm guessing it was more like eight inches. I can't say for sure.
My dogs can.
If they could speak -- and by speak I mean something slightly more coherent than the gutteral noises emitted by guy who works at the local gas station -- they undoubtedly would inform me of exactly how much snow we received. But they probably wouldn't tell me in terms of a unit of measurement.
Unless, of course, that, um, unit, is, uh, their, um, units.
Yep, we have enough fresh snow to make even the most routine practices uncomfortable for my dogs. One of them, anyway.
The shorter one.
Poor pooch didn't want to leave the porch this morning to do his business. Initially, I couldn't figure out what was keeping him planted within the bare confines of the three-season porch. It wasn't the cold. It was warmer today than it has been in some time. And it couldn't have been the snow. He loves snow. At the very least, he tolerates it very well.
Eventually, he ventured out into the snow. Slowly. Carefully. With all the deliberate movement of a cat burglar.
It was then that I figured it out. The snow measured plumbing-deep to him. He couldn't move through it without experiencing a nippy sensation in a place no male ever wants to be chilled. It was like he was dragging a periscope through the snow.
My other dog, well, he was more fortunate. He stands a few inches taller. Just enough for his plumbing to narrowly clear the height of the snowfall. He went about his business as usual.
I was glad to see him do that. Not half as much as his brother was, however. He allowed the big dog to clear a path for him before he proceeded any farther into the yard.
Made me think that maybe I do expect my dogs to do some rather uncomfortable things.
I promise never to complain about a cold toilet seat ever again.
posted by RTG at 9:23 PM
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