White Thanksgiving

White Christmases aren’t the norm here on Roundtop.  White Thanksgivings are even less so.  This year I had a lovely little white Thanksgiving that lasted prettily until this morning, when fog and light rain did it in. 

The puppies were surprised, as the last time they saw snow they were tiny little things, not today’s more-or-less full grown dogs with puppy brains.  They were delighted with the early season snow, racing around in it and gobbling it up like ice cream.  I strapped on my yak-trax and joined them. 

Baby Dog, my old dog, isn’t easy to impress.  She didn’t mind it.  She didn’t act as though she cared about it one way or the other.  I guess by now she’s seen it all and done it all.

The chickens were not amused. At. All. They don’t like snow on their featherless feet and soon retreated under the shelter of the cabin where the snow can’t reach. I haven’t had an egg from any of them since the snow fell.  They won’t care for today’s rain and freezing rain either, so I’m not expecting any eggs from them for a while. Fortunately, I’m well stocked with eggs, at least through this week.

The woodland birds showed up at my feeders in droves, even the elusive blue jays who typically only appear whenever I offer peanuts in their shells. This week, they came for whatever I had in the feeders. They weren’t fussy.

Winter means different things to different creatures.  Some like it, some don’t.  People are the same way.  The snow lovers believe winter was already too short even before any of us knew about climate change. The winter-haters head south as often as vacation days and finances allow. I’m staying put.