Sunday, 3 March 2013

Delicate Little Hothouse Flowers



Well, winter came back today. We had quite a long run of great weather and I guess I can’t complain about this bit of winter. Bullshit! I can and will complain, it’s my nature.

Why are the weather men and women so accurate when predicting the weather we don’t want and so poor when predicting nice weather? Perhaps I just don’t pay as much attention when the forecast is sunny and warm as opposed to bone chilling, fender crunching, nose running, fall on your ass cold. The weather doesn’t affect me as much as it once did. Now, if the weather sucks then I can just stay indoors and complain about it like I am doing now. I used to love the cold winter weather, but now I tolerate it at best. I suppose that if I had to go out for extended periods I would convince myself that I liked the cold again.

I was out shovelling for a while today and I did find things that I liked about being out. It’s nice to have made life easier for the paper guy and the mailman. Sort of. When you stop to rest and are leaning on the shovel, watching the frozen breath puff in and out, the world seems to have stopped. It is so quiet and everywhere you look there is a white coating. You hear the odd car off in the distance and somewhere close by there is someone that is shovelling just as you are. My neighbours haven`t really embraced the use of snow blowers or at least there aren’t too many of them. My buddy has a snow blower, but he was noticeable today by his absence. Swine!

I shovelled twice today, and I hope that the wind stays down and there aren’t any more pockets of snow to fall over night. I don’t mind shovelling first thing in the morning, but I would prefer not to. I might just have another look outside tonight to see if it needs a touch up.

Buster is spoiled and wouldn’t stay outside to pee until I cleared a path in the snow for him. I find it hard to believe that he is descended from the wolf, albeit a very distant link. I`m pretty sure that he wouldn`t last more than a few minutes in the wild unless someone filled his bowl with food. He won`t even drink from a puddle, it has to be a bowl. You know the saying “Don`t shit where you eat.”? I don’t think that would apply to Buster if it meant he had to go out in a Canadian winter without a cleared path. Okay, I don’t like the idea of going out to crap in a Canadian winter either.

I suppose that Buster and I are just a couple of delicate little hothouse flowers. 

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