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Travvy's First SnowDecember 20, 2008 It snowed last night, heavy, determined snow that piled up quickly. The first flakes started flying in early afternoon, when I showed up to toss Allie and her buddy some lunch hay and to do a last pick of the paddock before the forecast snowfall. When I showed up at nearly dark to feed supper, it was coming down fast and furious, and of course the girls were standing out in it, sopping wet. They both came in to eat, however, Allie in Sweetie's stall and Sweetie in Allie's. Should I throw blankets on them, at least on Sweetie, who's 20 to Allie's 12? Cold and wet isn't a great combination, but I decided against it: both have good coats and good flesh to keep them warm, and blanketing would just trap the water closer to the skin. Besides, it's not supposed to get really cold till Monday, when the sun comes out again. Back at their house, my neighbors Willa and Ava were building a snowman in the glow from the front windows. I couldn't resist letting Travvy loose to explore the natural element of his ancestors, both close-up and more distant. Yeah, it was pitch-dark, and no, he wasn't wearing his Puplight, but he's surprised me several times lately with his willingness to come when called, and besides -- it was snowing and he's an Alaskan malamute. He sniffed, he bounded, he checked out what the girls were doing. Then he vanished from sight, which wasn't hard because (a) it was dark, and (b) the snow was falling fast and thick. He could have gone to Chilmark, or he could have been 10 yards away. I figured he'd gone to T-beaux's house, so I headed off in that direction, calling, "Travvy, come! Where's Travvy?" I'd barely got to the end of the forsythia hedge when Ava and Willa hollered, "Here he is!" and no sooner had I turned in their direction than a large snow-covered puppy came bounding up to me. I made a huge to-do about how wonderful he was, punctuated with rapid delivery of kibble bits. Then I shoveled my little deck and stairs for the second or third time, and we went inside. I poured myself a beer, served myself some of the Tex-Mex-style chicken casserole I made the other night, and decided it was early enough to start making a linguiça, mushroom, and cheddar cheese quiche for future suppers. Having run out of ways to procrastinate, I got back to the military history of the U.S. Civil War that I'm copyediting. Trav furnished all the interruptions a girl could wish for: he devised a snowy night game that involved pawing to go out, spending long enough on the deck to get covered with snow, pawing to come in, and shaking the snow all over the kitchen rug. After three go-rounds, I'd had enough. He settled down to sleep in his favorite place: on the mat just inside the door, with his head nestled in my boots. Like Rhodry, Travvy is a natural-born draft dodger. This morning -- wow. Less than an inch had fallen since my last shoveling, but whatever window I looked out of (including the skylights) the world was white white white. As soon as Trav had eaten and I was dressed, out we went. Mostly his leash (six feet of purple webbing attached to about fifteen feet of doubled clothesline) hung around my neck, except when I wanted to keep him, or persuade him, away from compelling distractions where he might be a nuisance. I watched him burrow through the snow to reach distractions whose locations I'd forgotten but he remembered perfectly. I watched him bound through the scrubby undergrowth, coming when I called (!!!!) with total focus on reaching my side. I followed his pawprints down an otherwise untraveled dirt road and through the undergrowth to a cluster of small houses where he's seen dogs before. No dogs there now, Travvy; they're summer people, and summer dogs. A pickup truck and a sedan were covered with snow; there were no tracks in or out. Likely no one was going to see Travvy's pawprints or mine. Finally I saw, really saw, why my Travvy looks the way he does and moves the way he does. He bounds through snow like a butterfly-stroke swimmer through water, gather and leap, gather and leap. His big paws give good traction on slippery ground. Snowdrops slide off his dark gray overcoat, and with his gray back, white legs and belly, and pale brownish blond in his undercoat he nearly disappears against the snowy woods. I laughed like a fool to watch him running toward me, and even when he was galloping just as fast in the opposite direction I knew with almost certainty that he'd come back. Happy snow day, Travvy. I'm glad you're my puppy.
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