Let it snow....
Well, I know I promised you a ghost story this week, but I’ve been overtaken by events! No, not Donald Trump’s inauguration, nor Theresa May’s brave Brexit speech. Something far more elemental, the weather! Dog decided he really did have to go, this minute, at around 5.00 am. Husband is suffering from Man Flu’, so I bravely dragged on a skirt and t shirt and prepared to stagger out.
2 minutes later I was back, shaking him awake in disbelief. It was snowing, hard! Now for those of you who live in less temperate climes than we are fortunate to have, you may wonder what all the fuss was about. It is still January, isn’t it? It certainly is, but the last time it snowed here was 12 years ago. And over 30 years before that! Last time it happened, it was during the day and children were allowed out of school to see it. Adults piled out of offices and shops, and stood, open mouthed, looking at it in amazement. I can’t say I was that enthusiastic about it, but Dog had to go, and that was all there was to it.
He had never, ever seen snow before, and he just didn’t know what to make of it. Being a Labrador (mostly), his first instinct was, naturally, to see if he could eat it. That option was soon discarded. He stared up at all this white stuff floating out of the sky and I swear I could see amazement in those big, brown eyes. I was amazed as well, as my normally sedate, fairly middle aged dog, was transformed. He scampered. He slid. He snuffled up the white stuff and snorted it out again. He allowed it to build up in a coat on his back and then shook it off. He did everything short of rolling it. Eventually, he remembered what we had come out for, but then, naturally, it was all a different sort of game. He simply had to find a bare patch to do what nature was demanding, but everything was covered in snow. We eventually reached a compromise and he ducked under a bush, woofing in disbelief when the branches deposited yet another load of snow on him.
The cat, now. He was a different matter entirely. He had never seen snow, either. He galloped out in his usual carefree fashion, and skidded to a halt when his paws touched this cold, wet stuff. He gave me a reproachful look that told me it was all my fault, and came back in. Ten minutes later, he tried again. Through the window this time, but with the same result. Perhaps the naya doors might give a better result? No? Whatever he said was unrepeatable, and he went back to bed in a sulk. Eventually, he decided he had to go out and braved the elements, on tip toe. It was still snowing hard, so how he managed it I have no idea, but 20 minutes later he was back, bone dry.
As I write, it has stopped snowing but we have a good 2” on the ground. The palms look like giant parasols, bowing under the weight. And guess what? I have just seen a stranger, obviously a tourist, strutting past en route to our local bar. And wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt and an advanced case of goose-bumps. Well, he is in Spain, after all …..
Next week, I promise, the ghost story. And trust me, every single word of it is true.