Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
So, I heard pounding on the office door. Groggily, I tried to pull myself awake some time before midnight.
And I started wondering, ``How the hell did David lock himself in the office?
My wife grumbled, ``It's Storm. He's scared.''
That freak thunderstorm last night must have awakened him and put him in a frenzy of fright. Or maybe he thought he needed to get out to rescue the family from some evil?
I don't know.
All, I knew is I needed to pad downstairs and calm him down.
And, no, before you ask, he doesn't get to sleep with us. He doesn't get the concept of sleeping with us.
He's a face-licker. He's a covers-stealer. He's a slider-around.
He's a meathead.
So I petted him and talked with him enough to calm him down a bit. Then putzed around for a few minutes so he realized I wasn't overly excited. So he knew the family was safe.
Once he calmed down enough to curl back up on the futon, I went back to bed.
This morning the snow was gone, other than piles along the edges.
That's about as fast as I have seen half a foot of snow go away.
Yesterday afternoon, there was enough that my daughter and her friends spent a couple hours sledding.
Now, back to soggy earth.
Amazingly quiet this morning as the meathead and I circled the town ponds.
With the meltdown, I suspect the hundreds of Canada geese in the area must have headed back north.
Ice on the town ponds looked borderline at best and covered with a couple inches of water.
I was shedding my gray stocking cap and my gloves less than half a mile in.
Back in town, the thermometer on the bank said 44. It felt every bit as balmy as that.
What kind of non-winter is this?
Signs of the end?