Outing

I had guessed that Scooter would hate the snow like he hates the rain. That he would press his paws into white the first time and glance back at me, bewildered. That he would stick to the edge, do his business, and scurry back to the door. But the shar-pei in him that wrinkles his forehead, keeps his ears small and silky, and makes him hate the rain remained hidden today.

No, he bounded out my parents' back porch onto a half-inch of snow and didn't stop running circles until I lured him back with a cookie. The little guy loves snow, so says the husky in him. So says his relation to me. It's been two years since I've seen snow--that freak winter storm that shut down Spartanburg for three days at the beginning of 2011. That was the year much of the natural balance of my environment was off. Things fell apart. The world froze over. We all recovered in 2012.

You miss snow, but you forget how cold it is, how your feet shrink up, how your eyelashes collect flakes and nearly freeze. But it's worth it. I ran around my elementary school's playground today with my dog and then walked him home to my parents', his keepers while I'm in Hutchinson. He's good for them, a change of routine. I still haven't seen it, but my mom tells me about walking Scooter to the vet each morning just to say hello to the girls there. I imagine Scooter pulling her along and her purse bouncing more than usual against her hip. I imagine my dad being led around corners by my golden pup, and I smile. They have not been dog people, so Scooter is teaching them.

Meanwhile, I'm snuggling with my man while the world turns over. That's right, snuggling. It's the only way to live.