On the Pleasures of a Benign Snowstorm

01/12/2011 12:07 PM |


  • Our deaf white pit bull, hanging out in the snowstorm.

Well that wasn’t so bad, was it?

The next big snowstorm of the winter yielded a paltry (and pretty!) 8 inches, with not a lot of wind and very little drifting. This is nice for commuters, nice for people shoveling in front of their homes and, most of all, nice for the beleaguered and much maligned city infrastructure (who seemed like they were plowing even before the snow hit the street). Really, the whole evening was just really… nice.

I spent the last, city-destroying blizzard in the local bar, cozying up to my sweetheart, listening to live bluegrass as the snow piled up, so it made sense to head over there again at the start of last night’s “storm.” While there was no live music going on, there was plenty of sad country (interspersed with sad hair metal), and the bar seemed particularly cozy. We watched some kids throw snowballs at sanitation trucks, and some really brave bikers squiggling through the icy slurry.

The snowball kids seemed to inspire the group of twentysomethings smoking out front of the bar, as they mobilized (silently and quickly, like a squadron of remote-controlled cyborgs) into snowball attack mode, engaging with full and furious zeal another group of twentysomethings across the street, who happily fired back. And then they all shook themselves into the bar, redfaced and happy. Normally I find this kind of human “fun” a little bit irritating, but last night, in the storybook snow, I was manifestly unable to muster any bitterness.

BUT IT DOESN’T END THERE. Later that night, around 2am, I took our wonderful foster pit bull—who is snow-white and deaf—for a little spin around the block and she got all energized and bouncy by they snow, so we took off for a little drunken snowsprint. It was kind of incredible to be running through thick powdery snow with a happy deaf dog, everything quiet, everything pretty… And then, about two houses up, a family of three small rats hopped across the sidewalk, three stray commas on a blank page, into a pile of garbage. Our deaf pit (Luna) slid and stopped, sat up straight and slowly disappeared, right in front of me, in the snow. All I could see were eyes. It was amazing.

Then she shook it off and we ran back home.