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So, today was a Snow Day. Capital letters. Everyone knew it since yesterday. I wouldn't have even bothered going to bed early last night, but for some reason I just got tired at a quarter after nine. Truthfully, I think I missed the excitement of being woken up and told, or getting up and getting ready and then spending half an hour with your ears glued to the radio, constantly refreshing your browser on the MWHS webpage. But I'm not one to begrudge either scenario. I got to sleep in completely through until perhaps seven-thirty.
It's been snowing all day, a steady fall of white from a void of grey above. Baska was in and out for hours. I finally layered myself up and joined her. She laid down in the middle of the snow while I built a snowcastle and watched me peacefully. Only her head would move from time to time, looking about or snuffling her nose into the flurries. Ice formed eyebrows on her face and the falling snow frosted her black fur with a layer of sugar. She didn't care. I was reminded of her first winter storm a few years ago, when she went to sleep in the snow. Big even then though smaller than she is now, she drove my father crazy as she was covered by that huge storm and he couldn't find her.
When I thought my castle was done, I picked up my shovel and went to clear the long walkway and stoop. Baska got up and followed, giving a quick shake that caused all the snow to fall easily off her. Like how water will slide off a duck's back, so her alpine-bred fur repelled the elements.
She trotted about the front yard as I shoveled, sitting down amongst our evergreen shrubs for the last ten minutes of my work. By then I had started to feel the cold, and though I knew I should stay out and make the job better, I couldn't handle it anymore. I shouldered the shovel and signaled Baska to me. She was up like a shot and to the garage, squeezing under when the automatic door was only opened a few inches. I ducked under after and told her to steady as I kicked off my boots, jacket, and pants. There was ice caked in my hair where it hadn't been covered by my dad's old army cap. I shook most of it out and went inside.
Despite my admonations, Baska took off up the stairs, though I had wanted her to stay in the garage until she dried off some. By the time I followed her, she was at one of her favorite spots at the top of the stairs, lying on the thick white throw rug. She looked at me so pleadingly that I let her stay there. Even mountain dogs must feel the cold sometimes, I thought, and all that running around had tired her out.
She's here with me now, under my desk as I type. Occasionally I will stroke her neck with my toes, and she will lick my feet a few times. She seems to like a foot as much as a hand when it comes to licking.
I'm eating a blood orange, which I had never had until Wednesday. Our neighbors brought us back a bag of them from their trip to Florida. They also gave me twenty dollars {for taking care of their mail} and my dad a box of fireworks they picked up down south. This is thanks for babysitting their retriever Goldie all week. Goldie is a sweet, big-eyed thing, but she really is dumb as a post. Even Baska seems fed up with her at times, if secretly amused. The only thing Goldie seems to understand is "sit". Though Debbie says she knows " come here" [mostly from following behind Baska when we give her that command], I don't believe her. It took me several minutes to get her to come to her food bowl, and that was after I took a hold of her collar and gently but firmly led her over.
She would go up to my cantankerous bird's cage and stick her nose up to the bars, whereupon he would climb down and n** at her. She would flinch, look surprised, then sniff it again. I saw her do this several times. I call her a space-case, becuse there's really no other word for her. This is heightened by the fact that she rarely makes a sound.
Anyway, at least she was easy, and now we have blood oranges. They're much sweeter than normal ones, lacking the tart edge of flavor. On the inside they are a peachy sunrise pink instead of pale orange. I've never been overly partial to oranges, but these are delicious. My fingers are shiny with half-sticky juice.
I have one segment left. I peel the thin, bitter outer skin and push the pulp upwards. I bite into it and suck out most of the sweet juice before devouring the flattened reddish pips.
 A Dream Reflected · Sat Feb 23, 2008 @ 12:42am · 0 Comments |
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