First snow

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

She woke up as she always does and jumped into bed. We snuggled for a bit until her wiggling had me wide awake. I dressed and headed downstairs.

She tumbled down the steps behind me and dashed right over to the doggie door. This is what she always does. She barged through the flap as usual, in an obvious hurry to get outside and get to her morning business. She never dawdles.

I watched. She came to a sudden halt halfway through the door. Her head and forefeet were outside, but her hind end remained solidly within. She appeared frozen. She moved not a muscle. Even her tail was uncharacteristically still.

It was not long though, before she slipped the rest of the way through the door. Her morning task could not wait long. I stepped over to the kitchen sink where I could look out the window, into the backyard, and keep watch on her progress.

There she was, high stepping her way across perhaps half an inch of new snow. I watched as she took three high steps and then stopped, her right forefoot raised. Her ears stood out from the sides of her head. I wondered what she was thinking. She slowly lowered her right foot and took three more high steps, then paused again, her left forefoot raised. Large white flakes had begun to gather on her back.

She stood motionless, but she could not stand in one place forever. She still had her doggish business to attend to. I continued to watch her halting, high-stepped progress across the yard.

Finally, she could stand it no more. She tentatively lowered her hind end into her familiar getting down to business position, only to stand right back up again. She peered back over her shoulder, then once again looked forward. She could wait no more. She slowly lowered her hind end once again.

Only when her mission was accomplished, did she turn tail and dart straight towards the doggie door and dash into the house. She did not pause for my ritual praise in the kitchen. She did not sit by the sink in her usual helpful position. She had something far more important to do.

She ran across the living room floor and leapt up onto the couch. There she sat, perching on the back cushions. Her front paws were planted firmly on the windowsill. From there, she had a clear view of the front yard and the creek valley beyond. The white stuff still fell and she sat, ears perked, cautiously, curiously, watching.

I called her over to the breakfast table. Greg and I took our seats in our usual places and settled in to dine on our cereal and sip our coffee. She usually joins us, but not this day. She did not budge from her couch perch. She had work to do.

It was then that I realized what she was thinking. We might not care, but she did. She knew, without any doubt, that it was her job was to keep an eye on this white stuff and protect our creek valley world. She knew that her self-assigned task was very important and was very serious work indeed.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.