With a daytime high in the mid-twenties, I am wrapped up in a sweater, jeans, boots, coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and I am still cold.
The trail looms before us grey, cold and uninviting; While, sparce patches of sunlight beckon us foreward daring us to capture the majesty of the great Smokey Mountains.
The dog, Lucy, is the only one of us truely enjoying this winter quest. Shivering, I snap the camera, at anything that looks like it might be ‘picture potential’, as my husband, (who is trying to control our now, cold-invigorated, punch-drunk, labradoodle) surmises the quickest way off the trail and back to our warm RV, motorhome.
I guess my husband isn’t a yankee either.
Back in the RV, warm and snug, I began to thaw. I am quite happy; However, Lucy the snow dog is not! She begins to bark to go back outside. Her barking was not the polite -Could you please take me outside, kind of bark. No… In fact, I think she was auditioning for an Academy Award. The little faker used the -If you don’t let me out right now, I will have an accident bark!
I looked at my husband and he looked at me. In silent resignation I said, “I’ll take her.”
I once again dawned my hat, scarf and gloves. Then, with almost supple, mostly un-thawed fingers, I rebuttoned my winter coat and snapped a leash on my now, tail-wagging, labradoodle.
Once outside, Lucy began to frolic like a puppy. (Oh wait, she still is a puppy!) Better said- Lucy began to frolic and wrestle like a young buck enjoying his first spring. Sadly, I must say, I don’t think our little girl, Lucy, is a southern belle. In fact, I bet she might say, “I am the only true, yankee in the family! I love the cold. Why don’t you?”