I live in the outskirts of a large city in western Canada. I live in the same place as a million other people. The dominant season for those so far north is winter. It can be so cold that the pine beetle freezes to death and our pines are saved from their ravaging destructive teeth. Other places, places with far more beauty and far more attractiveness, are punctuated by dead pine dotting the road side. We have special tires for winter: the snow can be feet deep and people clearing their walks and make piles of snow many more feet deep. Our insurance companies insist on winter tires; the snow is too treacherous, too slippery, too unfriendly just to rely on all season tires -- especially lately. The weather has changed.
We do have dogs. Some like winter, others tolerate it. Some play and frolic jumping up to grab the snow flakes, barking as they ascend, before the white hits the ground. They are active innocents who amuse us when we are out walking them. We meet others that we know and we stop to talk about the weather or our children or other neighborhood news. We are dressed with scarves covering our faces, but nothing hides the glow of our eyes as we welcome the company of those we know and like.
I've seen deep snow. I've seen well dressed people, prepared for winter and enjoying their pets, but I've never seen a dog sled or the kind of husky that would pull it. There are just too many people where I live. And I'll bet the same is true for you unless you live in Alaska or the Yukon.
