Snowed in

A foot on average. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)


—“I guess we’re not doing the park today,” I said to my silly dog. That’s Killian, my rescue Irish Setter, who goes bonkers in the park telling off squirrels: “Come down outta that tree and fight! I’ll tear ya limb-from-limb! Meat for the table!”
He didn’t wanna go out. Snow was up to his belly. I measured a foot on my yardstick. I gotta shovel him a path to his bathroom-fence. My first priority is to shovel out the step-landings. Next will be Killian’s bathroom.
Then I’ll attack my driveway. My car is All-Wheel-Drive — required. I probably could drive out, but a foot on average would be challenging.
I use a walk-behind 28-inch Honda snowblower my brother badmouths as “a tinker-toy.” “Not a Harley!” he bellows.
I also used to run. People tell me I don’t look my age (74+), but I think it’s more I don’t ACT my age. Yer young only once, but can be immature all yer life.
I don’t look forward to that driveway. I usually do it in two sections with a break in my house to get warm.
I get the look. “Why aren’t we going to the park? I want squirrel-land!”
“No goin’ out for this dog. I’ll hold it,” Killian says.

• My brother (in Boston) uses an ancient Ariens snowblower festooned with paperclips and bobby-pins. He claims my Tinker-Toy is inferior.