Perhaps the hardest part of coping with a big snowfall (Salida got about 18 inches last week) is explaining to the dog why he’s not getting his walk.
Bodie, our 5-year-old collie-shepherd rez-dog mutt, spent the morning asleep in my favorite chair. But after noon, he got frisky.
“We’re taking a snow day,” I explained. “You’re a car-chasing idiot, so we can’t just walk around town without a leash. There are fools who actually drive in these conditions.
“And on your leash, you’re likely to jerk, so I could slip and fall and break a bone. Sen. Joe Lieberman is trying to make sure we have no coverage for such medical contingencies. So no walk for you today, but I could call Lieberman’s office and let you bark at his staff.”
Bodie stared up at me with his deep brown eyes, then resumed wriggling and pawing the floor. So I kept explaining.
“No, I can’t drive you over to Cleora, where you could run around without a leash. Remember, I said it was stupid to drive anywhere today? And we could get seriously stuck, even with four-wheel drive. I’ve done it. So we’re not going anywhere.”
Bodie shook his head as though he understood, although I know his cerebral cortex has only three divisions. One is devoted to food. The second is employed for running after cars. The third figures out how to get between Martha and me when we’re sitting together on the couch.
“Tell you what, Bodie. I’ll stand at the back door to open and close it for you. You can run back to the woodpile and grab a piece with your strong jaws, then bring it to me. And do it again and again, until we’ve got a big pile next to the stove, where it can dry before we burn it.”
Bodie displayed no interest, even though this chance to be useful would give him ample exercise.
We have central heat from a natural-gas furnace, but it needs electricity. Early storms like this one strike when many trees still have leaves. The weight builds, branches snap and sometimes break power lines.
So there have been times when we really needed the wood-burner. But with a big snowfall, the wood gets wet. The solution is to keep some dry wood inside for starting the fire, then set the wet wood near the stove to dry. But one must stay ahead of the fire, which means you must defer the strong temptation (also known as “wood-stove narcolepsy”) to lie down next to the cats and nod off.
Since I couldn’t get Bodie to fetch firewood, I donned my gaiters, then my insulated coveralls. I wrestled the wheelbarrow through the drifts to the woodpile, then went back to fetch a broom. Any day that requires sweeping the woodpile is not a good day.
Bodie came along. He watched for a moment, then headed for the front yard, where he ran along the fence to chase the occasional vehicle.
Meanwhile I got depressed. A big spring dump vanishes quickly as the days lengthen and the shadows shorten. But this time of year the days are getting shorter and the sun drops lower every noon. On the shady north side of the house, this snow could linger for months. Shoveling a path won’t help, because water will run off the roof and freeze, making the route treacherous with ice.
Finally the wood was in and so was Bodie. He seemed to have received enough exercise, as we both stretched out on the floor in front of the hot stove and commenced a siesta. Maybe something I said got through to him about how best to spend a snow day.
Ed Quillen (ekquillen@gmail.com) of Salida is a freelance writer and history buff, and a frequent contributor to The Post.
