Chihuas hate winter: part I

I am just back from a 30 minute walk with the Big Guy, Atticus, and then 6 more blocks with the girls. It’s only 14 degrees out in the sun ( = windchill of 6), but the recent subzero B.S. has the tiny dogs inside, having no fun. They are BORED. Or: I am boring. There is only so much gutting of the already gutted stuffed hedgehog four dogs can do.

The Big Guy needs walks every day or he wanders around whining, sad sad sad. I get out his leash and the tiny dogs dance, and Georgie starts to bark. No, I say, Too cold, as if they get it. They don’t. I think they feel as if every day when the back door opens, it will be Florida out there.

But today, heartened by sun and blue skies and warmed by the Big Guy’s walk, I got out the small leashes and harnesses and jackets, and we went out for a few minutes.

I have to take all three; if I leave Tiny Dog she howls from the house like a teeny wolf, and you can feel her despair straight into your bones.

Chibi is good for about one house’s worth of sidewalk and then gets up on her hind feet to ask me to pick her up. She’s wearing her double reds today: Canadian red fleece turtleneck, then the Santa jacket over that. It’s only so briefly seasonally appropriate, but it’s also the only hoodie she has to cover her heat losing fruit bat ears. And yeah, some guy driving by us on the street had the biggest smile as he passed the two pulling chihuas below on leashes, and the tucked in red-hatted Chi above. I am that lady in the neighborhood. Don’t go back and tell my 25 year old self please. She had felt so very cool in her Fluevogs walking her Lab cross.

Rosy-cheeked, hoodie-depressed.