by Joyce Menyasz

Created on: December 31, 2008

Winter Joy or Winter Hum Drum? Depends On Who You Ask

I knew it couldn't last forever, this mild winter we were experiencing. Now we're covered in snow, just like we're meant to be. Wintery white, cold, crisp and sparkly. How lovely.

Until I think about the drive that has to be shoveled, the walks that need to be cleared and the cars that need to be dug out. Ugh. Winter. I'm so over it.

Then I watch my dog, Chip as he runs out to bounce in the snow with the joy of a five-year-old puppy. He rolls and bounces as puffs of powdery white snow flow in glittering clouds around him.

That's how you greet winter when you're happy about it.

Then there's Wick, our eight-month-old kitten. She stops short when the door opens, as if to say Whoa, who changed my world?" With a small nudge from my Sorel booted foot, Wick steps cat-knee deep in snow and looks at me. Her look is clearly confused until a random brown leaf scurries across the white landscape, and Wick, true to her form, chases it and lands neck deep in snow.

This is how you greet winter if you just don't know what's going on. Crawl in a hole and wait it out.

I trudge on through, grabbing the newspaper, watching the animals. I'm not sure what Wick is doing, but she has yet to move from her snow-fox hole. Chip is still doing his business back in the bush, if the white puffs of flying snow are any indication.

Wick has braved her way out of her hole and is bounding back towards the back door, where a snow-less life waits for her.

I have to call the dog a couple of times and remind him that breakfast is waiting, but all he wants to do is roll in the snow. Weirdo.

Wick has almost made it to safety when Chip comes running back, the call of breakfast' ringing in his ears.

Wick's head and neck are visible, and she's just about to make her last leap to snow-less freedom when Chip spots her and decides it's time for snow wrestling.

Um, let's just say that after the snow cloud clears, Wick is not happy. She swipes nastily at the tail-wagging dog. He jumps away from her and bounds into the house, obviously proud of himself for besting the cat.

Wick shakes her fur free of the offending snow and cautiously follows me into the house, looking for her attacker. There is heat and revenge in her eyes. I wisely keep my bare hands away from her.

Once the dog is fed and greedily munching away, I watch as Wick casually makes her way to Chip's big bed. She hops in, goes to the middle and promptly squats to do her wet business right where Chip sleeps.

I start to yell at her and tell her bad cat!', but then it hits me. Even though I now have more laundry to do, Wick has showed Chip what she thinks of him trouncing her in the snow.

And really, who can blame her? Sometimes snow just sucks.

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