I had barely cleared the neighbor's mailbox before snow had made its way into my sneakers. I sighed, lifted my head to the blowing wind, and pulled on the hood to my coat. Poochie wanted a walk. Now. In the snow. And I had told her that if she quit barking, we could go. I tugged her away from the mailbox post she was enthusiastically sniffing and stomped down the sidewalk.
We reached the corner and she dropped to her stomach, turning her paws, and gnawing at the clump of snow wedged between her toes. Because of her fine fur, snow often gets trapped between the soft pads of her feet, forming an ice-ball and making it painful to walk. I used to bend down and get the snow out of her paws myself, but she can do it much quicker with her teeth. So I stood there, stomping my feet. She chewed on the ice-ball for a moment, then spit it out.
We trudged on.
As we turned the corner, the wind shifted, blowing directly into my hood. I ducked my head and squinted at my feet. Poochie knew the way around the block, so I followed her footsteps. She kept a steady, if meandering pace, and stopped at every bush, post, fence, and tree to sniff and leave her mark. Every yard or so, I'd glance up, just to make sure we hadn't wandered into the road. The snow melted in my shoes, instantly attacking my toes.
"Come on," I whined to Poochie, jiggling the leash. "You've seen that tree before. The quicker we get home, the quicker my feet will dry."
She sniffed, pawed at the snow, and dropped to her stomach to gnaw on her paws. She got the ice-ball out and then remained on her stomach, staring at a passing car.
"Come on!" I said again, pulling her to her feet. "Let's run home!"
There is an inch of snow on the ground. And I just told my dog to run through it. Ever obedient, she took off, wrenching my shoulder in the process.
I followed, head down, in a loping stride, watching the placement of my feet. The last thing I wanted to do was fall.
Then I did.
Poochie suddenly dropped to her stomach, nose buried in her paws. I slammed to a stop, balancing on my toes, inches away from stepping on her bum. My arms pinwheeled, trying to correct my balance.
"Gaaaah!" I squealed as my toes lost their grip on the snowy pavement and flew behind me.
I let go of the leash, put my arms out, and dropped.
I landed in the classic push-up position, with a hand on either side of Poochie, my nose inches from her back.
"Wait, wait wait," I ordered as her muscles shifted under her fur in preparation to get to her feet.
She didn't listen. She heaved herself free and I remained at push-up number one with no plans to try for two.
A car honked and I turned my head.
"You okay?" the lady called out of her window. "I saw you fall!"
"I'm fine!" I called back, and to prove it rolled to my side and jumped to my feet. "Thanks!"
She waved and drove on.
I brushed the snow off my pants, coat, and stuck my wet, gloved hands in my pocket.
"You know," I told Poochie, "they make snow-shoes for dogs, so this kind of thing doesn't happen."
Poochie stared at me for a moment, then continued down the block.
I chased after her to grab the trailing leash.
"Warn me next time, will ya?" I muttered.
Poochie sneezed and shook her head.
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