Cheyenne's Howl

Printed in Mountain Messenger on Friday May 30, 1997

My First Snow

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I can't believe it. We made it through the Memorial Day weekend without getting six feet of snow. If you listened to the Denver radio stations, it sure sounded like we were in a blizzard or something. Where do they get those weather forecasters anyway? The weather may have been cool, but up in Silver Plume the skies were sunny with nice white clouds most of the weekend. I wonder if those weather reports were from last year? It was probably cheaper to use last years reports than it would have been to pay a weatherman overtime for the holiday.

  Last year it seemed like we had twelve feet of snow, or at least it did to me. Of course I was only about six inches high at the time and I had never seen snow before in my life. At that time I was four weeks old and from Arizona. All I had ever known was the warmth of sleeping and playing inside with my brothers and sisters and occasionally being taken outside to take care of business. The temperatures out there were about 75 to 80 degrees. I moved to Colorado and boy did I get a surprise. While it was nice and warm inside the house, the temperature outside was flat cold to me. I was just learning to regulate my body temperature and let me tell you that when Dad put me outside to do my thing, I did not waste any time.

Then came that morning when Dad put me outside and there was this frozen white stuff all over the place. I was just getting my eyesight and this stuff was so bright that I could hardly see. I touched it once, and then touched it again. No matter how many times I touched it, or which paw I touched it with, it was cold. I turned around so that I could have Dad put me back inside. He was gone. I think he was standing inside where it was nice and warm, watching me through the window. He swears that he was out there with me and that I was temporarily blinded by the snow and couldn't see him. Yeah, right. I cried and howled, nothing worked. I finally took care of business and Dad picked me up and brought me back inside. He held me in a warm blanket and wiped the snow from my feet. Mom then served me a hot meal, and she is a great cook I might add. I learned a couple of good lessons that day. First, he who procrastinates, ends up with cold feet. Second, flattery directed to Mom gets me all kinds of good food and treats. I love you Mom, you're the greatest. What's for dinner?

I really hate to admit it, but as with you humans living today, I have become a little soft as far as desiring all of the comforts and conveniences of modern life. I didn't have to dig my own den. Dad made me a nice underground one where if there is a little chill or dampness in the air, I can retreat to it and stay dry and warm. Mom cooks my meals in advance and Dad nukes and serves it to me twice a day. No more going out to that Cafe on the Run, which is either closed or the food gets away from you 90% of the time. By the way Mom, did I tell you what a great cook you are? Ted at the KP Cafe is also a great cook but I still haven't tasted one of his buffalo burgers. Remember Ted, we wolves have long memories.

Cheyenne