Eldest daughter is working on finding somebody to plow the drive, and she thinks he can be here tomorrow. Of course, tomorrow is supposed to be around 45 degrees so we may not need him after all.
I tried to slog out to the barn and feed the outside critters – you can smell “fox” all around the house – but I got about two-thirds of the way before I quit, and just tossed the kibble across the snow. The Squire and I have done quite a bit of shoveling, mostly so we can get to the bird feeders, and our time spent at the gym has made that pretty easy.
However.
Walking, plodding, staggering through knee deep snow can be deadly. I honestly didn’t think I was going to get back to the house. The Squire was just getting ready to come look for me when I staggered onto the patio. He said Blazer was barking at the back door, and sounded very concerned. He said he expected to find me face down someplace.
Last night, the dog thought he heard something out back that “needed barking at” so I let him go without the lead. He took one flying leap into the snow, which was about up to his ears, spun around in midair, and raced back to the door. I guess he figured I wasn’t safe out there either, and he ought to let Poppa know.
This photo was lifted from the Baltimore Sun. When the plows get stuck, you’re in big trouble.
Back when I was still working for Blue Cross, my car pool rider didn’t want to come down Route 7 in the snow, so she dumped me at the shopping center about a mile and a half from the house. I didn’t even have boots. By the grace of God, a friend had stopped at the grocery store for cigarettes on his way home and saw me standing on the median strip, trying not to cry. I’d venture to say that pack of cigarettes saved my life. Thanks, Hugh!
Ironically, Rt. 7 is a state highway and is always plowed, and she would have gotten home herself more quickly if she’d come this way, instead of staying on US 40, which had not been plowed.
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