A Special kind of Crazy

I suspect there is no treatment for this particular disorder.

Here's the set up: It was 11 degrees and I couldn't WAIT to get outside. The hounds were climbing the furniture, itching to get GOING already - and I decided that leaving my boots at home wasn't that big a deal, I'd just wear my sneakers. Coat over jammies, slippers over bare feet, and I took the boys out to a paddock for their morning constitutional. No wind, stars galore, the moon setting over Pike's Peak, and a hard cold that puts a spring in one's step.

Dog trial fashion this time of year trends toward the... bag-lady impersonator. I got a cup of coffee and began to dress. Layers and layers of long-sleeved everything, heavy wool socks, lined gloves, ear warmers, hat, down vest, windbreaker. While I would have liked my ski pants, I had to make do with my very favorite fleece lined jeans. Ski pants are wind-proof, which is a wonderful thing on the windswept high desert in winter. Feel free to call me a wimp, but only my toes and a couple of fingers went numb. Yes, it's essential to pee before going to the field, because dropping trou in a porta-pottie is not only incredibly uncomfortable, it's utterly cumbersome.

By the time breakfast was finished I'd broken into a sweat and the dogs were ready for the relative comfort of the car. The sun was just coming up, promising sunburn in addition to frostbite. It was 14 as we pulled onto the field, and about 20 by the time we had roll-call. I seriously doubt it broke 30 before lunch, and the wind made it feel a lot colder than that. The borzoi were, of course, giddy. Cold weather is their favorite, and running in the cold only makes them happier.

After the trial I headed back to the ranch house for a shower, where I traded bag-lady for lobster impersonations. When my last toe thawed out I exited the shower and got ready for dinner. Then it was time for a good dinner with friends all things dog.

We laugh at ourselves and what we do for the our love of the hounds and what they do. Call us crazy if you want to; we're nearly as happy as our hounds.