Cedar’s been upstaged. Most of the last few days have been about moving snow. Cedar is an enthusiastic supporter of anyone with a shovel—she will clamp her jaws down on the business end and try to pull it in the direction it’s going—but her irrepressible social urges send her ranging to whoever comes into view or whiff. So she’s been either outside in trouble or inside captive for a good chunk of the past couple of days. 

Thoreau said his wood warms him twice. (I guess there’s some controversy that he ripped that off from a guy named Kinloch from earlier in the century, but who has time for that with all this snow to move?) I’ll concede that my snow soaks me twice—at least.

Tim and his buddy Arne were a great help moving snow, but they were so caught up with building a huge pile to jump into that they neglected to see that the pile would block the entrance to the house. 

We got another 8-10 inches last night, and it’s supposed to snow all day. Neighbor Matt tells me tonight’s forecast is for “ice showers” — another bit of weather poetry to add to last year’s atmospheric river? 

I could do without the poetry; Cedar’s game for most anything.

Stay tuned for nostalgia for these cold wintery days. And with luck, Cedar back to center, soggy, stage.

We’re into the negative numbers. Minus 6 earlier this morning.

Cedar seems to have arrived at a bit of a truce on the morning walk. She was lying next to the heater a little extra patiently today, but we made it out, eventually. Honestly, she seems unaffected–and maybe a bit energized–once she’s outside.

I first fell in love with her amber eyes on a Labradors in Alaska Facebook page, where there are daily pics of Labs frolicking in far colder places than Juneau. (Yes, I met my wife and my dog online.) But if I were to go by the popular Lab sites, I should be bringing Cedar in when it’s 20 degrees above—that seems like about 90% of our winter so far.

As you can sort of tell from the photos, Cedar seems far more concerned by the scent of frozen nuggets (hey, here’s an occasion to use the word subnivean!) below the snow than any abstractions about thermometers.

We have the sink water trickling, all heat systems blasting, and with a weather forecast of snow then sharply warming temps and rain later on this week, I’m starting to join the chorus of Juneautians wondering when they might need to shovel their roofs.

I’m considering stealing a trick from the ravens, hiding some dog biscuits up there, and setting Cedar loose.

‘Tis the season for resolutions, I guess. The cold light of January is for real around here. It’s barely double figures, the wind is blowing, it’s a work day, and there’s just no hiding. I did not want to take Cedar for a walk today, but we headed to the big trees at first light, avoiding the waist high snow in the path of the not-so-great-circle route. (If the snow trend continues, I may stash a pair of snowshoes in Neighbor Tom’s back yard, and alternate our direction daily.)

As usual, a few steps in to the big trees, and my attitude improved with Cedar’s joyful trots and jumps and her celebratory sniffs. I let my mind do its own version of freedog. 

I realized somewhere in the brisk walk that I hadn’t even contemplated any resolutions this year. So I made a few promises to Cedar on the way home. (I won’t ask the same from her, since she hasn’t even been here half a year.)

***

Dear Cedar, 

This year, I resolve to… 

• Take you on walks even–especially–when I don’t want to. On those days, I may need the walks more than you. 
• Take care of my body so I can do that and more. 
• Let your growth plates fuse before too much of that “more”.
• Stop with you to look and listen on our walks. 
• Teach you to heel well enough for our inevitable porky and bear meetings. 
• Continue to re-evaluate this training-without-treats business. (Other humans think I’m a bit of a freak for that, and Cedar, they may be right. And treats may not be the cure.)
• Watch less tee vee. (I know, Cedar, we don’t have tee vee, but watching a couple of movies while Katrina was here made me realize that you could be a real movie-junky. How ‘bout we go back to hockey games on the laptop and you on my lap?)
• Never make you wear a vest. 
• Teach you to swim (or lead you to teach yourself). 
• Leave a few socks and shoes around to indulge your guilty pleasures. (Can’t help you with the bras; sorry.)
• Learn from your honesty. (I love how you confess your crimes of sock stealing so readily.)
• Be more monk than misogynist. 
• Not write about you in a way that will embarrass either of us. (Too late? Maybe.) 
• Be half the person you seem to believe I am. 

Love,

Tom

A recently republished New York Times piece on changing habits suggests one of the keys to success is “reducing friction”.

In the scientific study of habit formation, the thing that makes it harder for you to achieve your goal is called friction. Reducing friction means removing an obstacle or coming up with a strategy that makes a task easier to do. And if you figure out how to make a goal easier, you’re more likely to succeed.

“To Start a New Habit, Make It Easy,” Tara Parker-Pope, NYT, Jan. 09, 2021

I’m sorry, dear Cedar, but I’m not going to sleep in my winter clothes. I might, though, take one tip from the article, and use the tee vee to watch some jellyfish. Whaddya say?

Meanwhile, a few photos for those who are watching you grow up. Sorry; no jellyfish music. (Use the arrows for the slide show, Mom. )