The other morning I noticed that it was twelve degrees in Chicago. March was coming in like a lion. As I walked Chandler around the block in the balmy seventy degree morning air, I thought about Chicago. At that very moment, if I were already living in Chicago, I would have had to bundle up for the morning walk. Thermal long-john underwear, a long sleeved shirt, long pants, a sweatshirt, a hoodie over that sweatshirt, boots, gloves, hat, scarf, and the new warm coat that Mark bought me. I estimate that it would take a good fifteen minutes for me to get ready for Chandler's walkies. That's fifteen minutes of the big dog pacing and making the gruff sounds that translate into "Take me out... NOW!" I also thought about the snow falling up there in Chicago. I'm going to have to get a snow blower, and a stash of that blue salt that they spread on the ice. I'm going to have to get the dogs some little dog boots for their feet. And Bette, well Bette probably won't even step outside for six months. I'll have to stockpile a few dozen cases of puppy pee pads. Finally, I thought about Mark. Poor Mark, he does not want to move back up to the cold weather. I gave him the option of not moving, but he declined when I told him that the option was for him only. Anyway, poor skinny Mark with no "Chicago Layer" (AKA fat) on him, is going to freeze up there. However I now realize the extent of Mark's interaction with nature makes all that irrelevant. The only time Mark ever goes outside is when he walks to the car from the house, from the car to the store, from the store to the car, back to the house, and once in awhile from the car to a bar. And that last thing he can do with one of those Uber cars. It'll be all warmed up and right out front waiting for him.