Snow Dog?

Aw, no.

When we sprung Roxy from the pound, and brought her to the cabin, her grateful nature kicked in. As we’d stock firewood, she’d carry logs before bounding into the underbrush to torment chipmunks.

I suspect she liked the squeals. (No, she never caught one!)

The walkway to the cabin was a good 300 feet, forming a wall of snow in the winter. Parking was always a challenge, so as soon as we heard the plow, we’d run down with our thanks and a bottle of wine, and the driver would carve out a spot for us.

Roxy settled in and embraced her true nature. No more firewood for her, only blankets, and shut the door if you please.


The following year we decided to use snow shoes to create the path. Big mistake. What worked fine all winter was a nightmare when the snow thawed and we’d find ourselves sinking in slush to straddle trees felled by winter storms.

I’d come home in the dark, tired from work, and stare up at a berm far higher than I, but Rob would carve steps in the packed snow and leave a lantern at the base I could carry to light my way.

It was fun. So much fun, but we gave up the overgrowth and chaos of the Tahoe Basin and moved to the Carson Valley. Now we can nip into the quieter bits of the Sierras and still enjoy their immense beauty.

This weekend the Sierra storm came to us. The predicted 5-8 inches turned into two feet plus of wet Sierra cement. The power went out as I shoveled the drive. Our cats play in the usually tranquil east fork of the Carson river. Not this evening. This evening the Carson was raging across the street and everyone was curled up inside – except Bucket, who was on the lam.

I’m a champion shoveler and a not too terrible wife. I made sure Rob had a clear spot to park and a nice pathway – which kept filling up with snow. The plan, before I realized the only shovel left at home had a damaged handle, was to keep digging until I had clear access to my truck.

Ha! I swore at the snow. I swore every time the handle fell off the shovel and the blade flipped sideways. I swore at Rob who steals the good shovels. And I swore at Bucket as I unburied his favorite bolt holes.

So much for plans. I buried the Rv. Buried my truck, and Bucket came yowling at the front door a few hours after sundown.

So we all bundled up on the couch and listened to audio books because Rob likes to buy lanterns and the last batch can power our electronics. I love that man.

He brought me roses from the banquet, but after a three hour commute on bad roads, forgot and left them in the car. Bundled as they were, they survived the cold and are blooming in the kitchen.

Can’t decide if I’m going to unbury my truck before the next storm or see it after a good melt, but I will grind more coffee beans before the next blackout.

Stay warm, stay safe, and if you must go out in the storm, keep water, beef jerky and a sleeping bag in your trunk – just like Mom would put in mine when I was a teen, because why would I take I coat if I wouldn’t wear one in the car?

It’s a miracle we survive before we develop common sense.

25 Replies to “Snow Dog?”

    1. My folks were great. Mom tossed us into everything from survival to avalanche training – which wasn’t anything more basic than “fan your hands in front of your face and hope for an air pocket.” Be self-reliant but be smart about it. Have a marvelous day!

      1. Definitely sounds a lot like my upbringing. I had more than one person with survival training, and I can’t say it didn’t help as I am still alive and kicking!

    1. That cabin was in a small enclave of Forest Service cabins. The owners banded together and got permission to stay open all year. A small oasis. Hated to see it go.

      1. We moved a few years back. Too much chaos in the Tahoe Basin, so we chose the Carson Valley which is a quick commute to the lake. You?

      2. Nice area. I was stationed in St Pete, with the Coast Guard, in the lates 70’s. Several decades later, we lived in Cape Coral and flew with American out of Miami. Always entranced by alligators and manatees.

      3. Yes, I came here originally for University and ended up staying after I met my husband, retired Army. We have been in the same home for 20 years!

  1. Loved this post and your doggie & thoughtful Mom. Stay safe & warm and Happy New Year! ๐ŸŽŠ๐Ÿฅ‚๐Ÿพ

    1. Thanks, Cindy. Mom was all about get out, have fun, (give me peace,) don’t kill yourself. Seemed to work ๐Ÿ˜ƒEnjoy a marvelous year!

  2. You are far braver than I, that’s for sure! I am not a lover of winter, let alone snow,, which is why we live just north of Manhattan. We get manageable snow but there are times when the plows need to come through. I’m going to check the wine rack right now to make sure there’s enough for the plow guys and for us! Cheers and Happy New Year to you and yours! ๐Ÿท

  3. Iโ€™m a midwestern girl raised in what I considered to be magical blizzards and though Iโ€™m back living where I started out, what the heck happened to the snow this yearโ€ฆ? So disappointing. Thanks for the laughs and for taking me to the cabin with you. I just loved it and the cuddle with โ€œsnow dogโ€! ๐Ÿ˜„

    1. Blizzards are magical – one of my favorite things – but no way am I cuddling the beast until tomorrow. Now that Rob’s asleep, she’s on high alert and I’m a potential threat. At least I have two cats on my lap. ๐Ÿ™‚

  4. Ah, the heavy white fluff – know it well. Not looking forward to heading back into the Tundra (been in Texas since Christmas, but alas, the cold is calling and wants its victims back. Stay warm, stay flexible for all that shoveling ha.

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