Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
This morning the wind strummed the taut leash as if it was a homemade hillbilly stringed instrument.
Last night, I took the meathead out in the height in this, the Blizzard of 2011, and he went wild, leaping around in circles in the snow, plowing his nose through it and generally straining on the leash.
This morning he made a token gesture to do the same. He leaped around in the snow, then realized he sank to his belly or deeper. My guess is his private parts got a frosting not to his liking, because he soon settled down.
Last night, the snow fell furiously and wind just as furiously whipped what had already fallen into a veil of snow. Visibility was less than a block.
This morning the visibility was better. Snow fell more temperately, wind was more negotiable. Even so, the meathead and I adjusted and didn't even attempt to reach the town pond. Instead, we stuck to plowed roads and walked to the Shell station, but the Sun-Times never made it there. Neither did the Tribune, but I didn't care about that.
Last night, the biggest drifts were about thigh-high. Our lights flickered on and off. Preparing for the worst, my wife and I dug out all the flashlights we could find and a pile of candles. The cable came and went, as if modern communication stuttered.
This morning, there were drifts over my waist. And for the first time in my life, I shoveled a path out to the road so I could walk the dog. Never had to do that for Flash, may God rest her soul, or Storm before.
The morning after the Blizzard of 2011 came slowly into an off light out of the lingering grayness of a snowy night. It is memorable enough to want to hum a tune.