This morning when Izzy and I stepped out the door before the sun rose, our backyard surprised us. When I was a kid, I thought that the light dusting we often got — you know the one: the grass and trees have a coating of white that disappears before lunchtime — was powdered sugar and I wanted a taste. This morning, that’s just what it looked like outside. My lawn furniture (which I should bring in, but I’m too lazy) had a coating, as did my car.
This is our first true snow of the season, so to see the ivy bushes with their heavy red berries looking quite Christmas-y almost felt like the holidays were upon us once again.
Izzy, half asleep as he usually is on our first walk of the day, did his duty by making sure that every telephone pole and bush got a generous dose of his pee. He didn’t pay attention to the snow until we came back to our street.
Walking along the neighbor’s grass, Izzy lowered his face to the snow and did as he usually does when he’s getting ready to poop — he sniffed, a good long one. And he got a snoutful of icy cold snow. He popped off the ground as if he’d just snorted coke — and did a little dance like the one I do when I have an ice cream headache: part pleasure, part pain, tickles but it hurts. Then he did it again, and again, he did a little dance. Not until the third time he lowered his nose did he realize that he couldn’t take a deep inhalation. Though he paced back and forth a million times like he usually does, he kept his face at least four inches from the ground. And he gave me a dirty look when I couldn’t stop giggling at him.
When we got back to the house, he retreated to my bed, only lifting his head when he saw me get my coat on and get ready to leave. He didn’t move to go out again, though. Wonder why.