Pickles & Dimes

I think you all know my feelings about 2009 (I would love to take a flamethrower to it), but what about you guys? 2009: Yay or Nay?

68, 69, 70, I count out loud, huffing with exertion. I finish the path and review the expanse of yard, a white canvas waiting to be broken.

This is absolutely ridiculous, I think, as I start again. Stomp, flatten, stomp, sink, flatten. I try dragging my leg through the snow but the top layer’s frozen, a crusty ice shelf covering my own backyard Antarctica. Back to stomping. I speed up my process. Stompstompstomp. My legs burn. It’s like trying to sprint through quicksand. Again, I think: Ridiculous.

I intersect the second path with the first and retrace my steps, making it more compact. I’ll have to go over it a few more times before it’s solid, but for now it’s a start. The sun reflecting off the glittering snow has made me sun-blind. It’s cold out, yet I’m sweating. My nose is running. My boots are full of snow, my pants clinging coldly and wetly to my legs.

Shorty sits primly on the ice-lined deck, watching intently. “This is for you, buddy!” I yell from the far corner of the yard, as he yawns and licks a paw.

I’m doing this because a few days ago Shorty was trying to chase a rabbit and kept falling in the snow. He’d leap, land on the snow, try to take a step and then just sink. Jump, sink, jump, sink. The rabbit was long gone and when Shorty came inside, his back legs were scraped and bleeding from the serrated snow.

“Totally stupid,” I mutter, as I stop stomping and start using my hands to remove the giants chunks of snow from my manmade avalanches, tossing aside gigantic pieces that look like the state of Florida, New York, Africa.

I spend 45 minutes making a dozen paths, Shorty’s personal trail system. A single path around the perimeter of the yard, with shortcuts interconnecting everything. This way to your bathroom spot! Rabbit Scent: 200 yards! Joggers on the left; walkers on the right! Scenic Vista: 40 yards!

“That’s enough for today,” I say, winded, as I come up the stairs to go inside. Shorty starts to follow, then suddenly turns around and sprints back outside.

He stops, looks at me with his head cocked, and then runs around his newly made freedom.

Merry Christmas, everyone! We hope you all have a safe and happy holiday.

I’m working from home this week, and I thought the pets might be a distraction.

Instead, this is what I’ve seen ALL DAY:

She’s supposed to be helping me edit documents.

She’s supposed to be filing.

And he’s supposed to be returning my emails.

Good thing they work for free.

Oops, gotta go. The youngest assistant just told me I’m late for my tug-of-war meeting.