Numb, Dumb and Housebound on the Tundra

-21 F this morning, which sucks, but the thirty mph winds are the real killer. Looking out across the fields, the drifting snow appears as waves breaking upon a white and frigid ocean. I'll be stuck inside the hovel 'til at least tomorrow, when the temps are suppose to rise above zero. But, I'm actually digging it. Plenty of firewood, beans, rice and Triscuits. And, of course, and ample supply of Nyquil.

Even with the wood stove at full blast it's hard getting the house above fifty. The biggest problem however, is letting the dogs out to crap. Little Sputnik, (fully recovered) has zero body fat and the nearly-hairless hide of a whippet. Within thirty seconds her legs start to seize up, but so far has managed to squeeze out an instantly frozen poop-sicle before she shivers herself back inside and makes a beeline to the warmth of the wood stove.

Somewhere out there is the compound driveway, about a quarter mile long with five foot drifts in places. I'll have to attempt digging it out with an ice cold, unheated open-cockpit skid steer loader. No hurry though, it's hard telling when the county will clear the road. Where the fuck is Al Gore?