Joys of a Cold Winter

Baby, it's cold outside. Depending on where you live in the great Northeast, there are wind chills of -24; temperatures ranging from -5 to +8 greet you in the morning. If you are lucky, the furnace is pumping out heat, almost keeping up with the outdoor wind and chill. Now that's rough!

I look around the house inside. Sun is beaming through the blinds in the kitchen, the sign of a clear day.The first joy of the day is doggie, prancing around, stretching, craving a good morning hug (ugh!), and of course ready to take you out into the morning chill. Why not? I grab my heavy coat, warm hat, and thermal gloves, kick off my slippers by the door, and don my bean boots. I slide open the rear patio door, and doggie bounds out, frantic to relieve himself. I carefully close the door, but not all the way. I have a fear of being locked out in the arctic cold, so I compromise with a partially open door, that allows a little of the cold into the back porch. I walk down the five steps to the snowy ground, and almost get mowed down by the dog, bounding back into the house. He is finished, and smart enough to know how cold it is. I tarry a bit to take in the late winter sunrise as it enriches the high clouds reflecting many different shades of red and yellow, so perfect in the stillness of the early morning. My day has begun with this gift that I would probably have missed were it not for the impetuous, playful dog.

He gets his food and fresh water, and then begs for a treat. Who can refuse? As the aroma of fresh Joe (that's coffee, not the dog), tickles my nostrils, I move to the living room, open the blinds, and read for a while, eventually sipping that black tonic that helps to open me up for the day, more so than the blast of cold air I received earlier.

I plan my day around a lunch appointment with a friend, schedule in some writing before lunch, and some exercise after. The rest of the day would be unscheduled reading, relaxing, playing with the dog, and writing some more.
But winter wonders never cease. Again the dog forgetting the temperature wants to go out. As we approach the patio door, we both catch sight of a magnificent flock of turkeys grazing in the field on the few seeds available, but generally soaking up the warm rays of the waning winter sun. As we moved closer, about forty of these awkward flying bowling balls roared into the air, soaring and vanishing into the high trees on the back edge our property, leaving only thousands of forked footprints in the snow.

The dog meanders around the edge of the property, does his duty, and again, and again, and then at his highest speed rushes to the door, and waits for me, trudging at my slower speed, to open it. He then blasts into the kitchen, and sits, waiting patiently to see what I have for him now. I pet him a lot, rub his back forever, kick a ball around with him, and he again returns to that sitting, waiting, anxious position, " where's my treat?" He gets a little chew, and settles down until dinner.

And now for the final escapade of today's winter fun. The sun has set, and darkness envelopes everything, and the dog has eaten, and again wants to go out. I bundle up in my warmest coat, hat and gloves. I turn on the porch light, and open the patio door. A brisk breeze passes through my body as the dog steps out into the cold, and I follow, but it's not darkness. Rather, the snow glowing in the light of the moon's great waxing gibbous. Millions of stars staring down at me, unobstructed by the canopy of leaves that block the array from May to October. The dog relieves himself. I let the dog in. I gaze star ward, and step into the snow, and then walk, warm, into the wind a bit, around the screen house, listening for the screech owls and other signs of winter life.

Only at wintertime in the great Northeast! But for the dog, I may have missed it.