05 January 2015
NPR told me this morning that the wind chill was -18 degrees. I'd just come in from walking Miss Daisy, who, despite the coat I'd put on her to keep her warm, refused to actually work.
"But I protected your little paws with that Musher's Secret stuff! That worked last year during the Polar Vortex, and it's nowhere near as cold now," I reasoned with her.
Miss Daisy looked up at me, brown, buggy eyes growing larger and sadder as she dug in all four paws and became a deadweight at the end of the leash.
"Fine. Fine. Your little sad face wins," I said as I leaned over to pick her up. Miss Daisy burrowed her face into my neck and sneezed, and my skin instantly chilled and I instantly feared frostbite.
My little feet weren't so happy about being outside in -18 degrees at 4:45, either. On Saturday—just before the first snowfall of 2015—the zipper on my right snowboot pulled apart. The boot sort of flops around on my foot now, making it rather useless, and I tried (oh, how I tried!) to get it back together. There were even needle-nose pliers involved.
But this is beyond my abilities; the boots need the help of a cobbler (like, the person who fixes shoes, not the dessert, although maybe filling my boots with cobbler would help keep my feet warm and sweet). I'm taking them in tonight after work, and until they're fixed, Miss Daisy and I will bond over cold feet and how we both want someone to pick us up.