Just as every other evening, it was time for walkies. I bundled up in the big Japanese woman's coat that Mark bought me (He still insists that it is a man's coat), put on my hat and gloves, then hooked Miss Scout onto her leash. Away we went into the nineteen degree weather. In this kind of cold I take the dogs on a truncated route, just far enough to empty bladders, yet close enough to get them home before their little paws get too cold. Now little Scout loves the snow. She also seems nearly unaffected by the freezing temperatures. She jumps into the deepest snow with gusto and runs back and forth across the sidewalk, sniffing and smelling, and often trying to eat the ice. She has a ball. Maybe too much of a good time because she forgets to pee and poop. When Scout's big outing is near its end I have to drag her back into the house because one more leap into the deep snow of the front yard is in order.
And then there is Chandler. Usually when I bring Scout back home from her walk, Chandler is at the door waiting for his turn. Not last night. Apparently when the temperatures drop below twenty degrees Chandler is over it. No walkies.
"Come on Chandler, let's go."
He just rolled over on the sofa and gave me a look. 'I am not going out in that strange cold shit.' He would not budge. When he has to pee so bad that he can taste it, I am sure he will go out in the back yard. It is so much easier for him. Just run out there, take a quick steaming pee, and run back inside before his little weiner has a chance to freeze. I can appreciate that.