As with Lucy, since I’m Sarah’s primary caregiver, she’s now clearly my dog as opposed to our dog—and her side of the bed happens to be my side of the bed, so that’s exactly where she was when I went looking for her. Lucy always bounded up and out the moment my feet hit the floor. Sarah is your basic slugabed and has to be coaxed into rising and shining, especially on cold winter mornings.
“Out,” I ordered, pointing at the door. Sarah delivered a series of sleepy-eyed blinks before slowly unfurling her very long legs. Once upright, she gave me a floppy-eared shake of her head as if to voice a personal objection on being rudely awakened before sauntering reluctantly out of the bedroom. Due to her Southern California roots, Sarah does not like the cold, so I followed along to make sure she didn’t take an unexpected detour somewhere along the way. After all, at that very minute it was cold indeed in our corner of western Washington, even for people who are relatively acclimated to winter weather.
Two days earlier what meteorologists refer to as a polar vortex had plunged a long knife of frigid weather down through British Columbia and into the United States, with Bellingham right on its westernmost edge. At the same time, what our weather gal calls a “Pineapple Express” was rolling in off the Pacific, bringing with it drenching rains all up and down the West Coast. The two opposing weather patterns had merged somewhere north of Seattle, resulting in blizzard conditions that had brought our small city to a complete standstill.
Mel’s and my house on Bayside Road in the city’s Fairhaven neighborhood sits on a bluff overlooking Bellingham Bay. Because we’re so close to the water, we’re usually in a banana-belt situation as far as snow is concerned—usually, but not this time around. If it hadn’t been for the all-wheel drive on Mel’s Interceptor, she wouldn’t have been able to make it up and down our driveway. My S-Class Mercedes is an older model 4Matic, but when it comes to driving on snow and ice, I’m not especially proficient, and as much as possible I try to avoid driving and walking in that kind of weather.
The previous morning, before the snowstorm hit, it had already been icy cold outside. When I sent Sarah out into our frigid backyard to do her thing, I assumed she’d completed the job. That was an error on my part. Sarah evidently likes walking on icy-cold ground as much as I do. A lot later in the day, I learned she had avoided freezing her huge but dainty paws by leaving an Irish-wolfhound-size gift for me under the roofline of the front porch. Rather than walk around the house to the proper receptacle, I had resorted to the lazy man’s shortcut of flushing the by-then-frozen pile of doodoo down the guest-room toilet. Standing in the kitchen the next morning and waiting for the coffee to brew, I should have been smart enough to put two and two together and figure out what had happened with the plumbing, but as I mentioned earlier, I’m no handyman.
After filling Mel’s and my thermal mugs with coffee, I made a pit stop of my own in the powder room without attempting to flush. Then I picked up my iPad and found the number for Roto-Rooter in the home-vendors section of my contacts list. That’s another side issue of owning a home that dates from the middle of a previous century. It’s a good idea to have a talented plumbing guy and an electrician or two on speed dial.
By the time I’d managed to get an ETA on the plumber, Mel was dressed and having her typical on-the-go breakfast, which generally consists of a piece of buttered toast accompanied by a couple slices of pepper-jack cheese.
“What’s on your agenda for the day?” I asked, joining her on an adjacent stool at the kitchen island.
“A working lunch with the mayor at noon,” she replied, “and a city-council meeting this evening, unless they call it off due to weather. The trucks are out plowing and spreading sand, but the streets are impassable again almost as soon as the plows are gone. You probably didn’t hear them,” she added, “but they already did our street and driveway.”
“Rank hath its privileges,” I observed.
She gave me a beaming smile. “It certainly does,” she agreed.
“When’s the cold streak supposed to end?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” she answered, “but don’t hold your breath. It’s going to warm up tomorrow or the next day, but before that happens, they’re predicting another record snowstorm.”
“Great,” I grumbled. “Alternating layers of snow and ice. Looks like I’ll be settling in for a long winter’s nap.”
Mel gathered her coat, purse, and coffee and then on her way out stopped by where I was sitting.