An ice guy.

It's truly said that there are two kinds of guys who go from a nice warm bed to the frigid winter cold in under five minutes -- guys whose house is on fire and guys who own dogs. 

I'd much rather be the latter than the former, but some days it feels like a close thing.

This was particularly true on Wednesday night, when we had what was among the last and prettiest snowfalls of this winter. 

It snowed lightly, then heavily; it didn't coat the lawn, but then it did; it didn't stick on the driveway and roads, then it stuck to everything. On the whole it didn't amount to much, not even enough to warrant the use of a snowblower or call in the plow. 

Then large dog Fazzy had to go out multiple times in the night. I know not why. He didn't eat something unusual, at least not from us. He eats mud. He thinks it's full of minerals or something, I don't know. Maybe he's been reading Goop. I think he's too smart for that, though. The point is, between bedtime and the wee hours, the damp snow froze from the bottom up, leaving a slippery mess on top and a slick disaster on the bottom. 

I'm sorry to say I lost my temper with the dog, because it was A) the middle of the night and B) no time to be fooling around, which he was, in addition to doing what he had to do, when he got around to it. Apologies to everyone on the block for the crazy person threatening to murder a dog at that late hour. I slipped several times, but did not fall, thank heaven. But it put the fear into me, and I got mad. Mean mad. 

Thursday the temperature rose to 48, and the sidewalk that almost was a slidewalk became clear and dry by noon. 

It was beautiful morning, so people said; my wife and one other person mentioned that it looked like a Christmas card out there. And so it did. But we know what that was all about. 

In March, Winter puts on her most lovely outfit, makes up her hair and face, and slinks to the door, saying, "You're going to miss me when I'm gone, sugar."

And I say, "You almost caused me five concussions, two broken bones, and a permanent limp. Beat it, sister -- you've overstayed your welcome."

P.S.: Two to four expected Saturday. Winter is vindictive.