We didn’t even have to wait for more white stuff to fall for a snow day to be declared. My daughter learned, upon waking at 7:01, that today’s two-hour school delay (due to single-digit temperatures and below zero wind chills) had been changed at the last minute to a cancellation. She was briefly euphoric. Then she fell back into a deep sleep for several hours. I guess that’s part of her job as a teenager. I would have done the same thing, had I ever had the gift of a snow day. They were pretty rare in Atlanta when I was growing up.
My daughter’s celebratory cheers roused Kiko, who refused to return to his bed. We were out walking earlier than I would have preferred. Our porch thermometer read 8 degrees. Now that’s chilly. Even my little snow dog got more than he bargained for. His choice is to walk in the road if possible, but once weather-treated, the mix of salt and ice stings his paw pads. Every few steps, he picks up a foot pitifully and attempts to limp along. The going is particularly tough when he’s favoring two paws on the same side. I brush the yucky stuff off with my mitten and try to steer him onto the fresh, untreated snow. Sometimes he gives up completely and sits down, looking forlorn. Then he stubbornly struggles his way back onto the messy road, where the process begins again. With all these delays, my toes (and wet fingers) don’t feel so good either. Snowy day dog walking at its least enjoyable, I must say.