Going Commando

So, this happened:

And this, my friends, is why I leave the country every December, if it’s humanly possible. “Imagine if we weren’t going on holiday soon!” I said to Terry last night, as we watched a couple of cars get stuck in the small smattering of snow that lay in our street at that point. “Just imagine how much I’d be complaining right now!”

Terry could only nod silently, and turn pale at the very thought of it. And, as you can see from the photo, it’s actually a very modest amount of snow. I mean, it’s not even covering Rubin’s paws, and although it’s deeper on the grass than it was here on the patio, it’s still not very much snow. Nevertheless, it has plunged the country into End-of-the-World style hysteria, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since, oooh, since about April, I think, which was when we last had snow.  I’m puzzled by this, because the thing is, we’ve known the snow was on its way for at least a week. Every night this week, I’ve checked the news before going to bed, and it’s been full of stories about the omgsnow that was going to fall overnight – so much so, in fact, that I have dreamt about snow every single night  (made a change from the crabs, I guess) and have woken up amazed to find that it still wasn’t there.

Not so the schools, airports, and highway maintenance people, though. Nope, despite a week’s worth of warnings about the omgsnow, these agencies were completely unprepared for it: in fact, they could not have been more surprised by it if the snow had fallen in May. (Which actually did happen, now I come to think of it…) So we woke up yesterday morning to find that, while the snow hadn’t quite reached us yet, not far north of here the schools were closed, the airports were closed, the roads were closed, and the news reports were full of slightly dazed looking people walking around going, “OMG CAN YOU FREAKING BELIEVE IT!!! SNOW!!! IN WINTER!!! CAN YOU EVEN?!?!?”

Comment of the day yesterday went to Sky News, which solemnly informed us that “experts” had predicted that “the wintry spell” may last for another ten days, omg! The hell does that mean? The winter’s only going to last for ten days? And what, then it’ll be summer again? Because I may be going out on a limb here, but for my entire life, the “wintry spell” at this time of year normally lasts from November – March (and last year it lasted from October – May). In fact, most people have actually stopped calling it a “wintry spell” and just refer to it as plain old “winter”. But hey, if Sky News have “experts” who say it will only last for ten days this year then that is, indeed, cause for rejoicing.

No one, however, is rejoicing more than Rubin. The title of this post, you see, doesn’t refer to me (and thank God for that, I hear you say!) but to him:

TUFF.

SO. NOT. IMPRESSED.

Don’t worry, I don’t make him keep the hood up. (And he was actually unimpressed purely because as soon as he laid eyes on the jacket, he knew he was going for a walk, and so he didn’t want to sit still and have his photo taken.) In fact, he normally wears this:

I should probably point out here that I’m not a fan of making animals wear clothes just for the sake of it (Well, not unless we’re talking about the Yoda costume we bought him for Halloween that one time): it’s just that Rubin has hair like Velcro, and his belly is close to the ground, so without something to cover that area at this time of year, he tends to return from his walks covered in mud, and leaves, and twigs and all kinds of other nasties, and have to go straight into the bath.

(I should also point out that Terry refuses to be seen with us when Rubin is wearing his little duds. It’s OK, though: Rubin says the feeling is mutual.)

Yesterday, then (also known as Before The Snows Came, Bitter Chill It Was!), I thought I was being ohsoclever by getting Rubin into his little red coat in preparation for his walk. I continued feeling clever even although as soon as I got the coat on him I realised I couldn’t fit his walking harness over the top of it, and would have to put his collar on him instead. And I STILL felt clever even when I couldn’t find his regular collar (red, to match his coat, natch) and had to use the fancypants gold “bling” collar I bought as a joke/because I am stupid one year, and which has a diamante “STUD” charm hanging from it along with some other sundry blingtastic items. (Terry REALLY didn’t want to be seen with us that day, seriously.) In fact, I continued to feel clever right up until about ten minutes into the walk, when it became clear that Rubin had eaten something that disagreed with him, and he had an, er, “accident” which resulted in him coming home and having to go straight into the shower ANYWAY to be disinfected. Then the shower had to be disinfected. Then I had to be disinfected. Which just goes to show that while fine feathers make fine birds, fancy duds don’t necessarily make clean dogs.

And yes, I did just write an entire paragraph about dog poop. Sorry. Just be grateful I didn’t take photos of the aforementioned “accident”, as I’ve seen some potty-training mothers do on Facebook.