White Dog kept hopping up on the bed with the news reports. "I-40 is closed from here to the border," she announced and then was gone. "The governor has declared a state of emergency because of the snow," was her next update. "Hotels are overflowing and the Red Cross is opening temporary shelters for the stranded."
"Where's Dad?" I asked on her last visit. "Outside shoveling the ramp and the driveway." was her response. Zsofia, still in her crate was BEGGING to be freed into the arctic wasteland that WD was describing. I considered staying all cozy warm in my blankets and ignoring her until she started singing directly to me about her ancestral need to go out to be one with the land. I sighed, threw the covers back, and quickly scooted to the bottom of the bed to open her kennel. She was out of the door before I was back under the blankies.
I could see snow piled up on either side of the dog door and I could feel the cold. I imagined the yard with drifts and filled with mysterious snow shrouded shapes. Based on WD's words and the predictions I thought we had gotten an old fashioned bizzard.
Then I heard Zsofia's disappointed howl. I lay regaining the "I am never getting out of bed warmth" of the comforter and listened to her lament about Universal promises broken. The doppler effect of her song told me she was searching all over the yard.
Steve came into the bedroom. He still wore his coat and hat and radiated cold. "Don't even come close," I warned. "Got the driveway shoveled. There are all kinds of reports of accidents and thousands of people in eastern NM who are without power."
Zso stood just outside the door and WAILED. "I thought she would be in heaven. How many times do we get a blizzard? Every other pup is smart to sleep in where it is warm and toasty."
Steve laughed as he took off his outerwear and wet shoes. "How much snow do you think is out there," he asked me. "I don't know but based on what they predicted last night and the slivers I can see through the closed blinds and White Dogs reports a foot or so?" "Try," he picked up his phone and flipped to the weather app, "Just short of two inches at the airport." (The airport is less than three miles away).
"Oh." said I. "Not quite a tundra event. That explains the Dark One's winter whining."