Okay, okay, I admit I'd rather be in Florida right now. No amount of rationalization can make this sub zero, snow packed, hellish cold look acceptable. I'm just glad I don't have that forced air heating in my house. The sound of that fan running continuously would freak me out. Although, I'm not even sure my passive hot water heat can keep up with this cold for the next two weeks. Yes, two weeks is what they are saying. Two weeks of bitter cold. Still, not as bad as nine months of hellish heat and humidity. But February in Florida does sound delightful.
So my dogs keep asking me to go outside to do their business, but the minute I open the door Chandler stops dead in his tracks and turns back around. Scout still goes out there, but she keeps falling through the snow. She tries to walk on top of it, but she's just a little too fat. When she poops, her butthole is even with the top of the snow and that's not a pretty sight. When Chandler just can't hold it anymore, he comes and gets me. I know he has to go because of the look of panic in his face. He's no dummy. He runs right out there and has mastered the art of pooping while peeing and getting it done in one minute flat. As for me, I stand in the doorway swaddled in a heavy duty coat with a knit hat, knit facemask, and gloves, yelling "Hurry up."
I just keep telling myself, "It's only for a short while. It'll be over soon." Then I yell at the dogs again to hurry up.
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