A weiner in winter.

It’s cold. And snowing.

Yes, if you spend any amount of time at all on facebook, you will learn very quickly that it is cold out. Freaking cold, if you will. Or, you could go outside.

Either way… cold.

It’s winter in Nova Scotia, which means that one day its -18, the next its +5. Then back to -29. There’s some snow. Then it rains. The only creatures that don’t seem to mind are the seagulls and the crows. The crows are the Honey Badgers of Liverpool, NS.

My weiner hates the cold. Jeepy Jeep, the Weiner Dog of Wonder, despises winter. His legs are two inches long, after all, which means my weiner’s weiner makes direct contact with snow at anything deeper than 5cm.

My lover assures me that this is an uncomfortable situation in which to find oneself.



But, since my lover becomes quite distressed when the weiner pees on the floor (which, yes, the weiner has been known to do. Don’t hold it against him. He can’t reach the toilet, and, did I mention, it’s freaking cold outside?) Jeepy has to go outside several times a day. When it’s +5 he disappears in the blink of an eye to harass the neighborhood cats, but when it’s -29 he cries like a baby and pretends he doesn’t even know what a bladder is.

Can you blame him?

It’s winter. But, ya know what? This ain’t nuthin’.

Do you remember, back in the day, when we had snow from October ‘til April? I do. And I loved it. When I first started teaching, a decade years ago, we had ten storm days. Ten. Some of them two days in a row. I remember distinctly, in my new-teacher-enthusiasm, thinking: “we can’t have another snow day! We must Teach–The-Children!”

Now? I pray for snow days like Maria prayed for curtains to clothe her bevy of young charges. Like Dorothy prayed for home. Like Oliver prayed for some more, please, sir.

People hate that teachers get snow days. And summer off. And March Break. I feel guilty about these perks while I am marking essays for four hours on a Saturday morning, or when I am giving up my weekends to decorate for prom or chaperone a school activity, or when I am making a dozen phone calls to parents of kids who are missing time, or failing, or swearing at me in class. But then I get over it, because we all make choices and I chose to be a teacher.

I usually spend snow days marking. Or planning. Yes, I do these things in my jammies, with the weiner tucked under my sweater, and while I may pause to do a happy dance of joy in between filling my coffee cup and eating more chocolate, it’s as much because the snow day has given me the gift of time to get some work done, as it is because I get a “day off”.

Teaching sometimes comes with snow days, and occasionally with the opportunity to educate the young minds of tomorrow. Young minds that write things like “I was ate alive by misquotes.”

Ahh. Symbolism? A deep and meaningful reflection on the impact of slander in the modern world? A heartfelt plea to be quoted correctly?

Or a kid who likes camping, but can grasp neither the concept of tenses, nor the spelling of mosquitoes?

And what of “the genital knock on the door.”? Be gentle, dear reader. Be genital.

And my recent favorite, which I mentioned in my last post: “Roses are red, violates are blue.”

But it’s winter, folks. Which means that while my wiener is bitterly dragging his wiener through the frosty deeps, and while teachers are musing on the joys of a snow day, and while the darling children are studying the dictionary at night, to improve their faulty spelling, we can all rest easy, assured that spring is coming. The violates will bloom, and we will curse the misquotes, while the genital breezes erase the memory of winter from our minds.

Until then, however… it’s snowing. And a new semester is starting. And I have work to do.

Check out my novel: That Thing That Happened: Available on kindle now for $1.