I'm going to blame this epiphany on the dogs.
Why not? For one thing, they get kibbles and bits and some pretty comfy looking beds and as far as I can tell aren't exactly contributing a lot to their general upkeep. So the least they can do is absorb a little blame.
And they are the reason I'm standing at the back door, barefoot, in my pajamas, waiting for Dumb and Dumber (actually Louie and Otis, but the similarities are amazing) -- to decide if they want to go out or just look at me and whine.
That's when I realize, once again, that I hate winter.
Not just because I'm having to serve as doorman to a couple of idiot dogs who are trying to mull over in their pea-sized brains whether it's too cold for them to go out and do their doggie business.
And not just because I'm standing there trying to explain that, yes, I know its freezing but the backyard is really their only option, and besides, they're wearing fur coats.
And really not because I'm trying to present logical options at about 5 in the morning to two creatures who can't see any color except gray. And I'm doing this in sleepwear while holding open a door. In arctic temperatures.
So while those are all certainly good reasons for me to not be as fond of dogs in general and my dogs in particular as I probably ought to be (says who?), the real culprit here is winter.
And I hate winter. Have I already said that? It bears repeating.
The dilemma I'm currently faced with is that, apparently, I get to start hating winter much earlier, and, therefore will probably get to hate it for longer this year.
This place began going all Siberian on me right around Halloween, which means winter will actually have started just before the Christmas commercials. Which apparently now roll out right after the Fourth of July.
Now the reason I hate winter, other than the bone-chilling cold (and isn't that really enough?), is that, for the next five or so months, nothing will work. And what does work will be dangerous.
From now until, God willing, late March, the operation of everything you own and many things you don't will be tragically and dramatically influenced by the fact that it's freakin' freezing out there.
Your car. Your windshield wipers. Garden hoses. Doors, windows, the mailbox, your tires on the street, your knees. The list goes on and on, and takes a lot longer to write because the ink froze in your pen. Winter shuts stuff down, and what it doesn't shut down, it slows down to the point where it's just easier to stay home and glare out the window while wrapped in a blanket (OK, that doesn't sound so bad, but it does get old. And you're going to need to wash that blanket eventually).
Want to go to the store in July? Jump in the car and go. Want to go to the store in January? First, find your coat, gloves, scarf, hat and winter boots. Which should take you to February.
Then you have to let the car warm up and find the really aggressive-looking scraper deal, which is, apparently, with at least one of your gloves. Which means it has disappeared in a black hole, or it's one of the seven scrappers that have miraculously shown up in your daughter's car. Which is a strange place for them to be, since she had no idea how to use them.
So, let's say you've been able to overcome all that and haven't run out of gas in your own driveway. Now you have to manage the treacherous, ice-covered stretch of road (or at least that's the way the person in front of you is approaching a perfectly clear, if a little cold bit of pavement) between you and bread, milk and ripple-cut Kettle chips your family has to have.
And that parking place on the very back row that was a nice little stroll in during the summer? Now, it's like you're heading for the Pole with Admiral Byrd.
All of which crosses my mind in the hour (OK, maybe a few minutes, but who's counting?) that I'm standing in the cold doorway, waiting on the Idiot Twins to do their business. And leads to the final, brilliant conclusion; maybe I should invest in some house shoes?
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.
Commentary on 11/20/2014