Early morning in bed. I don’t want to leave. My stocking cap is pulled down tight. Wool socks are on my feet. Blankets are pulled up to my ears.

“And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.”

Who wears a bed cap in the 21st century? Perhaps just those old men who hear Dasher and Dancer landing on their roof. And, yes, bald-headed me. 

It is coooold. Brrrrrrrr….

 Minus 17 degrees outside! Wind chill of -33. Really? And I have to get out of bed?

Yup, time to go outside and see what’s going on.

Well, for starters, the fluffed-up birds are eating their weight in my wife’s birdseed. The cardinals are everywhere. Traveling in their large winter groups, the bright red males and the more subtly-colored females stand out against the white snow. They seem to crazily promise spring with a song of tweeeet — tweeeet  and then rapid fire — tututututu. At least I think it’s the promise of spring. You can’t always rely on Google Translate when you’re dealing with bird speak . . . especially when I suspect there are more than a few curse words about the cold. 

The squirrels have their tails draped up their back and on top of their heads — their own fur wrap — while they munch on dropped bird seeds. Once Charlie the German Shepherd sees them, he shoots through the back yard like a bottle rocket gone awry. This brings a small Darwinian moment that keeps everyone’s blood flowing. Although the frisbee in Charlie’s mouth seems an unhelpful indicator for the future of his genetic line. 

The rabbits hide in the dense shelter of tightly-knit brush, leaving small pellets on the ground that look suspiciously like a popular cereal. The trail they leave in the deep snow is connected as they gallop with their big bottoms dragging. Their large rear feet land in front of their front feet, which is highly confusing when you’re trying to figure out what’s what. And, unlike the galloping squirrels, the rabbits’ back prints in the snow (made by their front legs) are staggered instead of parallel. How is this fun fact of any value? It’s not — unless you’ve been in pandemic isolation for a year and have exhausted the “what about those Hawkeyes” conversational starters. 

And the deer? Hunkered down low to the ground waiting for the freeze to pass. Except they do take a few moments to snack on my wife’s young trees. This is not as cute to my wife as one would think. If there was a cage match between Bambi and my wife’s trees, my wife would be doing cartwheels in the evergreen’s corner. 

The mice skitter across the top of the snow . . . “dragging their tails behind them.” Which sounds like a fun nursery rhyme about sheep coming home and Little Bo Peep.  

Unfortunately, the mice have come home too many times. We first discovered mice in the house when my young children found additional roughage mixed in with their boxed cereal. Yum yum. We think they may have eaten just a few bowls. Don’t get me wrong, I love the old proverb that suggests kids eat a peck of dirt before they grow up . . . but mouse poop???

Up the walk comes the last outdoor creature.

The mailman. 

Frozen, he comes through the deep snow to deliver our mail.