There’s a lot of snow out there!
The light made the snowballs look yellow. Or at least I hoped that was the cause.
-Gary D. Schmidt
Doggy-duty knows no snow days.
Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, decided to leave us 2 feet of snow. All at once. Some people prepped by loading up with groceries and essentials so they could spend the following 3 days cloistered away at home. Waldo-daddies don’t have that luxury. Waldo’s gotta get OUT! Although I did fill the larder well enough so I wouldn’t have to drive for a while, hunkering down in a hidey-hole is not an option. So, here we are, plowing through deep snow, leaving a white glistening wake, more than a path, behind us, and “Lara’s Theme” flowing out from my subconscious with visions of Omar Sharif plodding through the frozen wastes of Siberia.
Waldo’s loving it. Whereas I leave a sort-of trench behind me (albeit a collapsed one) wherever I go, sometimes Waldo leaves big gaping holes in the snow where he has porpoised, leaping completely out of the stuff and landing a good six feet away, without disturbing the sparkling whiteness in between. Damn! I wish I had 10% of that energy. When standing still, only his black back shows above the smooth ivory surface, almost as if he’s floating. Then he stares at a particular spot, as if an idea was forming in his head, and suddenly jabs his nose and face deep in the snow and snorts. It sounds like he let out a long fart. When he pulls his face out and continues on, he’s covered in a dusting of what looks like confectionary sugar. If I pause for a brief respite, to replenish my will to continue, Waldo is over on his back, making snow-doggies. Yep, he’s really gotta get out.
It’s been three days since the storm hit. Looking at the progress being made at cleaning the streets, I decided it was unlikely the rail trail would be plowed yet. I wanted to get a picture for the blog, so, later on, Waldo and I went to a place where we could leave the car and get a good scenic shot without having to walk too far. The lot was being plowed as we parked. The trail itself looks like it was plowed in the recent past – there is a swath of snow that isn’t quite as deep as that next to it, but it’s still a good foot deep and a lot of work to plod through.
Once on the trail, Waldo surges up ahead, pulling the leash out to its full extent, eagerly bounding along. Of course, because it is the rail trail, other people and dogs have been here and left their spoor, recognizable only as a vague disturbance in the snow. But no bikes. No way. That means that Waldo’s spirit is completely unencumbered by angst and he is letting it all out. It does the soul good to see a dog enjoy himself so much.
As for me, I’m struggling along, huffing and puffing, sweating bullets under all the layers I’ve put on, despite the temperature being below 10℉, having to take frequent pauses to quell exhaustion. After ¼ mile, we come to a place that is surrounded by trees and brush and I decide, this is good enough. I take my photos and turn around. That’s far enough. In fact, it’s too far. I really don’t look forward to the slog all the way back. There is a business parking lot just a few yards from the trail, so we cross-country it through drifts up to my knees and break out onto icy tarmac. We have passed neither man, nor beast. Waldo, he’s down with following where I lead. Anything is good as long as we’re outside walking.
We walk on city streets back to the car. Literally. There are canyons in the drifts where some people have shoveled the sidewalk, but not many and they are not contiguous. These are back streets and the traffic is slow and intermittent. Drivers are understanding and give us a wide berth. The streets themselves are plowed, but covered with a thin layer of compacted snow. It is not very slick and, compared to the rail trail, the going is easy.
It looks to me like the city finally has the back streets cleared well enough so it’s likely the trail will be plowed tomorrow. Then we will walk all the way to Hudson (about 2.25 miles), but probably not much farther. I have no doubt that at some point, younger, stronger souls with better endurance than mine, and snow shoes and cross-country skis, will beat the snow down to hard-pack. Once that happens, Waldo and I can go back to our usual trek. But, for now, we head back home.
Me to my blessed recliner and Waldo to his balcony throne.
Waldo will make snow-doggies anywhere, even in paths through deep snow.