I yanked the branch down but it was just a skinny little twig. I definitely could not make a decent stick out of it.
nSo I tried again. Yank. Yank. It was very hard work. I was so pooped.
Finally. A branch I could work with.
So I started turning it into a stick. I whittled it down to a nice size. Nothing to be hugely proud of, but respectable enough to take home and show Papa.
There it was - a stick in winter! Whoa, was I lucky!
Just as I was picking it up, it started to crumble. The more I tried to hold onto it, the smaller it got.
All I could think of all the way home was how much I wish it was summer so I could do some real, honest-to-goodness stick hunting. I kept thinking about all the nice big sticks I am so proud to carry home in the summer, holding my head high and feeling so glad to be a dog.
Notice I don't have my scarf on. I lost it in my frenzy to pick up the stick, so Mama and I had to trudge all the way back to the park to get it. And will you just look at my face? Totally covered in snow. I got some up my nose and it made me snort something awful. I was miserable.
After I got home, I saw this cartoon:
Geez, that could have been me. Maybe this should put things into perspective. I'll have to think about it ... ok, I thought about it. I had a bad day and it could have been worse. But I still hate winter.
n n n
My pal, Dewey Dewster, just sent me this poem. It pretty much describes what winter's like for us Canucks! Thanks Dewey!
It's winter in Canada
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At thirty-five below.
Oh, how I love Canada
When the snow's up to your butt.
You take a breath of winter
And your nose gets frozen shut.
Yes, the weather here is wonderful
So I guess I'll hang around.
I could never leave Canada.
I'm frozen to the ground!