In case you haven’t heard, it was ridiculously cold here the beginning of this week. It was really dangerous to be out in the nasty weather we had and we tried to stay inside as much as possible. This was one time when being dog owners was a bit of an exhausting undertaking.
It was so cold out that the Greyhounds were having a very hard time with their feet outside in the snow. I decided to start putting some little boots on them just to protect their feet a little from the brutal weather, and to hopefully get them to take care of all the business they needed to outside. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with putting boots on them for such a brief run in and out, but drastic times call for drastic measures.
Monday, everything here was closed. Flattery apparently felt that the outdoors should be closed, too. Normally, she makes a bit of a pest of herself at the back door. You can’t get in or out without her there hoping to ooze through the door or see what you have. Monday, Mr. Taleteller got her coat on, put the boots on her and then when they got to the back door, she turned around, ran to the living room and peed on the floor. My rather annoyed spouse grabbed her and drug her outside to the pen. She stood at the gate and stared at him pathetically. He finally caved and brought her in the house. Then it was Bunny’s turn to go out. She went out and took care of business faster than she ever has in her life, and in a few quick minutes, they were back inside. They came in and found that Flattery had pooped on the floor. This cold snap is not doing wonders for her potty training issues.
The whole day was a long stream of bundling dogs up to brave the frozen tundra before quickly running back into the warmth of the house. It was more than a little tiring and a bit frustrating. Morgan and Küster will put on brave faces to go out and get things done. Bunny wears the resigned air of a martyr, possibly being led to freeze to the death for her cause. Flattery prefers to run away and hide from the cold. I can’t say that I blame her. It was colder than a witch’s heart out there.
Bedtime rolled around and we started getting the Greyhounds ready to go out. Bunny suited up and dutifully followed my husband out into the cold night. Flattery got her coat on, then ran back to the living room and curled up on the couch with Mr. Taleteller’s favorite quilt. I worked on getting her boots on so she’d be ready when he came back inside with Bunny. Bunny was soon running back into the living room, even while wearing her boots and I started working on getting her gear off so it could dry and she could curl up with her blanket and warm up.
While I was helping Bunny, my husband was trying to lure Flattery off the couch. She buried her head under her elbow and closed her eyes. Clearly, if she couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t exist and neither would the cold night that was waiting for her. He went in and got a leash, clipping it onto her collar and trying to call her off the couch again. She gave him an annoyed look that only a hound can pull off. Clearly, this was not on her agenda for the evening. He pulled a little on the leash, and while I know it wasn’t enough to hurt her at all, she let loose the Greyhound Scream of Death. Her feelings about the cold were pretty obvious. I tried calling her over to me with a happy voice, and she jumped up and ran over. I feel guilty because it became obvious that she thought I was going to save her.
In the end, my husband forced her out into the frigid night and made her pee in the snow like a common dog. We may have to invest in canine therapy, because she came in and let me know that she was clearly traumatized by the entire event. As I pulled off her boots and coat, she curled up on the dog bed and batted her eyes at me. At least she doesn’t think it’s all my fault. I have a feeling that by the time it warms up, she will have discovered every possible hiding place in the house.