My brain is frozen--not in a state of inertia but rock-solid frozen from the cold. I am just back from a mile plus walk with my dog in minus 33 degree weather (with wind chill, of course, because the straight temperature is a balmy minus 16). You know it is cold when your face freezes the minute you leave the confines of your garage or when your poor pup has to bunny hop in the grass to keep her paws from icing over. I remember my glory days of living on the east coast when freezing temperatures meant one or two degrees below 32 degrees and, boy, we even complained about it. Now, 32 degrees is a sign that we need to unbox the short-sleeved shirts and break out the shorts. I simply cannot get over the fact that I am walking and functioning in a temperature that is colder than the inside of my freezer!
My pup is one of a litter of ten and all of her siblings were adopted by families in either Arkansas (her home state) or Tennessee. While I am certain Phoebe knows that she could not have been chosen by a family who could love her more, she is also acutely aware of the fact that she chose the short-straw when it comes to the weather. I recently saw some photos of a couple of Phoebe's siblings in adorable little life jackets, basking in the sun on their owner's boat. Though I talk to Phoebe constantly, after today's walk, I think I might just keep that bit of information to myself!
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