White Dog said, "What is the saying? January goes out like a crazy lion or something like that?"
We technically had crossed the midnight mark into February but it was still a January night's sleep we were all missing, huddled together on the bed and surrounds at 3:30am.
We had all been blasted to full wakefulness when nature hurled a gale down the mountains at full force without any build up or notice. One moment we were all resting calmly; the next WHAM! windows were rattling, the dog door was banging huge winds were screaming and bullets of ice were attacking every surface of the house. The noise and fury were intimidating. We could see the shadow of our huge old tree in the yard perilously waving its thickest branches like twigs. No one needed my warning for all to please stay inside.
Puff had tried to warn us. Her old sensitive body must have sensed the change in air pressure or some shift occurring because she was restless and reluctant to settle down. In fact, we stayed up half an hour later than normal to cuddle her on the bed and watch an episode of Mozart in the Jungle (usually that puts her into sleepy time mode).
The White Dog Army, Steve and I pulled together tightly, all touching each other and jumping a little at each supercharged volley of hail. Benson tried his best to be a furry block for the swinging dog door until Steve lifted him up to join us on the bed and inserted the metal plate that locks down the door. "Hope nobody needs to go potty for awhile," he said. Their response made it clear that was NOT something Steve needed worry about.
To soothe rattled nerves and to distract the fear, I began to talk about the brave Northern dogs of sledders gone by who faced these same kind of weather crazies. I invited the White Dog Army to curl up around Steve and I (in the blankets and at our sides) as tightly as possible and to tuck tails over noses to conserve body temperature. Zsofia wooed challenges at the wind (she is so much like her momma sometimes) and we all clambered UNDER the blankets making a little WDA cave where we ate a few blueberry treats (you need calories to stay warm on the Tundra, White Dog reminded).
After about an hour and a half the vehemence ended and it began to gently snow. Every pup was exhausted and ready for sleep. Steve opened the dog door, just in case, and everyone took a second to reassure themselves that the winter monster had roared on by peeking outside.
Puff was already snoring softly beside me as the others settled down to join her.