Sugar in the Snow

Sugar loves snow! I wonder she doesn't shy from the cold, seeing how she never dons boots or coat, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. She is especially fond of hopping about when the snow is a good four inches or so, burying her muzzle in the white fluff, running with her tongue licking the fresh snow in front of her.

Today was no exception despite the cold temperatures. I wore multiple layers and carefully snapped the entire front of my coat down past my knees, wrapping two scarves around my face and pulling my black fur lined hood over my head. Drew says I look like an Eskimo.

I opened the front door and Sugar zoomed out past me, leaping off the step and plowing headlong into the white tundra beyond the sidewalk until she reached the end of her leash. She frolicked back and forth, hopping like a little bunny, twisting her head to keep from tangling in her leash. She plunged her face deep into a snowbank, sniffing and poking for familiar scents left by her doggie friends.

After some time, she took care of business, then headed out for our usual stroll around the buildings. I pretty much kept my head as covered as possible, peeking out the slit between my hood and my scarf, seeing just enough to set one foot ahead of the other. I felt the leash jerk in my hand from time to time, telling me Sugar had wandered as far as she could, or had stopped to investigate some smell.

As for me, I just kept walking ahead at my slow pace, wanting to give her enough exercise and happiness without turning into a Popsicle. Suddenly I realized that Sugar was being particularly stubborn about moving on, and I widened the slit enough to she what she was up to.

Poor thing! She was standing belly deep in snow, lifting one foot and then another, and silently whining just a bit. It looked as if she had hurt her paw. I walked up to her, tiptoeing through the snow, trying to keep it from sliding down my boots. I couldn't see anything immediately wrong, no blood gushing or anything. It wasn't until I reached my black gloved hand towards her that I saw the trouble.

Her thick fur was coated with gobs of snow. The more she walked, the more she collected. She was trying to bite at it and shake it off, but the snow was so enmeshed in her fine fur that it was not budging. I tried to loosen the cakes of cold, but I couldn't. I tried to pick her up, but her belly was so coated that she began to cry.

What a dilemma! Fortunately, we were not far from the back door, and she managed to limp her way inside where she ran in circles trying to free herself of the ice prison. I grabbed a towel, then knelt beside her trying to scrub the snow from the clutches of her fur. I got a little bit off, but it was hard work. I thought seriously of getting the hair dryer but I know she would have been afraid of the noise.

I stopped toweling for a minute, and she ran off behind the chair where she sat shaking and shivering. She would not be coaxed from her spot even for a snack. What to do? I grabbed her blanket and stuck it in the oven for a few minutes until it was warm, then set it in her little bed and called her. She came slinking toward me and gingerly stepped into the warm blanket where she lay staring at me with woe filled eyes.

By the time I finished breakfast, she was thawed out and her happy self once again. Wouldn't you think that would make her think twice about rolling around in the snow? But, oh, no! Minutes later she was scratching at the door, begging to go out again. Fat chance!