Snowing Two Inches an Hour

February 10, 2010.  Wednesday.

Situation:  At about 9 this morning Moi wakes me with the report that it is snowing about 2 inches an hour, and according to the meteorologists it’s suppose to snow all day.  Out my office window, the snow is gathering deep on everything; it seems likely that my work for tonight will be cancelled.  Moi tells me that she wants to go down to her new wigwam and fetch a tarp from there to put over the chicken cage.  Downstairs I put on my snow suit and orange wool cap; Moi dons a flannel wool jacket and wide-brimmed hat, telling me that “the hat is what the Amish use.  It’s better than a cap, because it keeps snow from falling down your neck.”  Mway is at the door, waiting to go out with us.

State of the Path:  Mway scoots out the door, and starts leaping through the new snow, smiling.  Moi leads the way down to the new wigwam, clearing with her feet a new path through the snow.  Every tree branch, shrub branch, every weed and briar sticking up, is caked white on one side. The picnic table looks like it has two feet on top of it.  It is not now snowing hard, but the sky is white and snow is in the air.  We get the tarp, but there is another one already on the cage, with snow and ice on top of it, which Moi starts scraping off.  The chickens haven’t ventured out of the coop.   When she sees me just standing around, Moi snarls, “You can help too.”  We finally get the tarp off, and Moi starts putting the new tarp on and reapplying the old one, suggesting that I shovel off the walk to the chicken coop.  I’m wearing my glasses, and snow has stuck to the lenses.  When we’re both done, I tell Moi I’ll take Mway for her walk, but she is no where to be seen.  We both yell, “Mway!  Mway!" and finally she appears from out of the walled garden.  I first take the lead trudging through the new snow, but Mway soon overtakes me, etching a path that leaves a trace of her belly scooping out the snow.

State of the Creek:   The creek is almost hidden in snow.  Only because of the banks winding along can you tell that there is a creek here, and in about three spots I notice, for some reason, cavities in the snow where the water creeps momentarily into sight.  At one of these spots, there is a faint trickling.  I’m careful to duck very low under branches so I don’t get snow down my neck.  But my shoulders and limbs are caked with snow, and water clings to the lenses of my glasses.  From a neighbor’s house comes the pathetic puttering of a snow blower.

The Fetch:   Up in the clearing, I’m careful not to throw the stick more than about ten feet, lest the stick gets lost.   The snow swallows the stick on each throw, and Mway has to sort of surmise where it is when she clamps down at it with her teeth, sometimes coming up with a mouthful of snow instead of the stick.  When she does get the stick, then it becomes a labor to drag its ends through the snow.  She drops it after a few feet, coughing, snorting, and yapping at a high pitch until water clears from her throat and she can bark with a greater volume.  From running back and forth, Mway clears away some of the snow, and it becomes easier on each throw for her to fetch the stick, except that the stick becomes caked with snow that still gets in her mouth and nostrils.  I lose track how many fetches she makes, and eventually, when she lies down and starts angrily chewing bark off the stick, I call it quits.   With the stick between her mouth, she proudly trots to the back porch.  I try to keep up with her because I’m afraid she’ll drop the stick in the backyard and lose it in the snow, but she runs way ahead of me.  When I get to the back porch, sure enough she is standing there without a stick.  I throw up my arms and sigh, “Where’s the stick?”  But Mway knows exactly what I’m asking, disappears for moment around the side of the house, and confidently tosses the stick up on the sidewalk.

            Later on, about 5, I go out to shovel some snow.  Mway comes out with me, but it is not my intent to take her for a second walk.  I shovel off the porch, my car and the area around it, the stoop, and the sidewalk to the chicken coop.  Because Mway is prancing around and eyeing me for a walk, I finally relent and take her to the clearing.  I throw the stick once, and Mway runs after it, but drops it where she finds it.  I don’t feel like dealing with throwing the stick in the snow, so I go over, pick up the stick, and start walking back to the house.  Mway follows, beckoning for the stick by leaping anxiously up at my side.  In the back yard, she leaps and beckons even more, but I keep carrying the stick to the back porch.  Inside, I feel bad for Mway and call her to come to the sofa, but she creeps head down into the music room.  Later on, after supper, I call her again to the sofa.  She comes to the sofa, and I pet her and tell her she’s a good dog, but she keeps her head down.