Ordinarily, I try to fill this space with essays, ideas, and interesting things that I’ve done; today’s entry is a little different. By popular demand — which, around here, means that like two people have asked for it — I’m going to shamelessly dog-blog my two little guys, Deuce and B.
Deuce is a Jack Russell Terrier, and B is a paranoid schizo Japanese Spitz (Spitz-O). At the time of writing, Deuce is about 5.5 months old, and B is a little over two years old. And yes, my dogs are the coolest. By far. Except for the pissing on the carpet thing. Oh, and the game of “hide the poop” has gotten old, too.
Okay, I read somehwere that any good briefing needs to have a setting, so here’s mine. Yesterday, our outstanding (*cough*) local meteorologists were predicting 2–4 inches of snow, and a forecast like this still makes me excited even though it no longer means a day off of school. Sadly, now, it just means my car will be useless.
Around here, however, 2–4 inches of snow can mean a few things. It can mean 24 inches of snow and -22 degree temperatures like it did in ’94, or it can mean that a couple of flakes might do a routine fly-by just to crush school kids’ hopes of a day off.
Yesterday, the prediction fell more towards the side of the latter. Regardless, I still seized the opportunity to catch the boys (that’s how I refer to my dogs) outside in some snow action.
With his huge 80s-band hair, B is kind of a winter dog, and upon first sight of snow in the yard, he busts out the back door and tears through the place at top speed. Typically, Deuce will do whatever B does, so he ripped it through the yard as well.
Because he has short hair, however, Deuce is decidedly NOT a snow dog. In fact, it’s nothing to catch him chillin over the heating vents in my house, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the novelty of the snow wore off as soon as he realized that his ASS WAS FREEZING. Oh, but he did manage to poop in the neighbor’s yard, and since I’m fairly sure they’ll never venture over to that part of their property (at least not till spring), I won’t have to pick it up. Good boy, Deuce!
B is kind of a weirdo — he won’t poop directly ON the snow. He has to find a dry spot or a place that’s melted through to the grass in order to drop the bomb, but I guess now he’s just decided that the house is an easier place to get the job done. Maybe he’ll reconsider after an ass-whoopin.