In My Own Voice #12: Wonderful, Wonderful Winter

snow lookout
Pettigrew scoping out our route through the woods.

What’s not to love?

That burst of cold air when you step outside. The breeze that ruffles your fur and flips an ear. The cold, wet ground permeating through your paws. The discovery that the world has been coated white. The muted crunch as snow collapses under your weight.

The joy of it! I zip around the yard! I feel like a pup again! I encourage my family to pick up the speed, let’s run!

Unfortunately, they insist on walking on two legs. With four on the ground I am much more stable. Sigh, that all too familiar sharp tug on my leash signals that, once again, they have lost their footing and I must wait while they flail around and regain their balance. It would make more sense if they would put four on the ground too, but it seems their hands just aren’t equipped for locomotion. Bummer.

I love that when I’m looking for my neighbor pal’s markings I can use my eyes as well as my nose. A nice yellow splotch shows up so much better against a white background and makes finding the right spot easier.

In the home there are fires in the hearth. Cozy cuddles on the sofa. And extra food in my bowl. Sometimes I even get an afternoon snack.

But, and there is a but, for some reason my family insists on dipping my paws in water and toweling them dry before letting me loose in the house. Why me, I ask. I don’t see them washing their feet. What’s so special about paws that I need to be subjected to this indignity?

I believe I’ve made my feelings perfectly clear on the matter. I yank my paws out of their grasp, and oops, did I knock over the bowl of water? Don’t tell, I think I still have them convinced it was an accident. After all, what were they thinking putting the water bowl there?

Still they persist. It’s the only fly in the ointment of an otherwise wonderful season. Wish it could last forever.

*Although Pettigrew refuses to acknowledge it, his paws don’t do well with the rock salt on the ground and his valiant efforts to correct the problem, by licking the offending residue off his paws, only serves to upset his stomach. So, contrary to what he would have you believe, we are, actually, washing his paws out of love.



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