Over the last while, a typical day starts like this: mom comes downstairs. She feeds Catie and me, lets us out, lets us in. She has the Weather Network as an app on her phone and she scrunches up her face to read the tiny screen. She says: S**T #@$%#, and stomps uptstairs to get ready for work.
Catie and I know this doesn’t bode well for an outing to the park with dad but we cling to feeble hopes he’ll prove to be made of more manly stuff.
Dad gets up after mom has gone, stumbles downstairs still half-asleep with a remote in his hand (he never relinquishes it, not even in sleep; I am told it’s a human dude thing, kind of like me not giving up my ball). He mutters “make my day” as he aims the control at the television, which is pre-set to the Weather Channel. Catie and I hover at the top of the stairs. Our tails wag. Dad says: S**T #@$%#, and hangs his head and mutters about moving to someplace called California. Our tails stop wagging. I retreat to my doggie bed; Catie goes to her couch. He is immune to all manner of soft eyed looks of entreaty or my barking demands, although he does give us extra cookies.
It’s not quite the same thing.
The rule made by the humans in this house that if it’s -30C the only outing we are allowed is go outside to do our business. The logic of this edict escapes me. Catie and I are Golden Retrievers and are impervious to forces of nature. To convince my humans of this, I insist of having PLENTY of business to attend to. Outside, inside. Inside, outside. Outside, inside. I am no sooner in the house, than I return to stand at the back door with my nose pressed against the glass until someone lets me out again. Not to mention that cold weather or not, it is my job to check the parameters of the yard, a duty I take very seriously. Little do my pawrents know that it has been my vigilance that has prevented the suburban hares from breaching the fence.
Catie and I had two glorious trips to the park this weekend. We made the best of every moment.
I have been forewarned, however, that the temperatures are supposed to nosedive again in the upcoming week. Catie and I will once again have to be satisfied with memories of frolicking in the snow.
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