Shitty Weather

My dog General Sherman is not enjoying the ”Polar-Vortex Bomb Cyclone” (or what we used to call a snowstorm, back in the old days) that has recently occurred. Being a southern dog both by birth and by nature, The General finds little pleasure in ice-matted paws and is quick to point out that the only good ice in this world is currently tempering his hard cider.

When our preferred weather person told us about the -52 degrees Bozeman, Montana was currently suffering, The General looked stupefied. “What,” he asked, “does a dog in Bozeman do if it has to go outside?”

I gave him the only conceivable answer. “It hurries.”

A disbelieving General Sherman looked his disgust. “Well then, it is explained. Only a stupid dog could live north of the Mason-Dixon Line, as there is not adequate time for reading up there!”

With that settled The General lit his Cuban, picked up our recently arrived copy of “Hounds and Heels” magazine, and retreated away to his favorite natural area for some quiet time.

That’s a good dog.