It's day four of out Mother Nature-imposed hibernation. I'm sure a shrink would have a field day observing the way each of us deals with our enforced captivity. The teens play instruments - snare pads pounding at all hours, strumming guitars, plaintive voices.
The dogs revert to early behaviors: accidents in crates, hyperactivity, you name it. The snow drifts in the back yard measure 18"+, more than a foot on the deck outside the back door. On the first day of snow, visibility was next-to-zero, winds were howling. I tended to open the door and toss the little ones out. Sorry. Sounds callous. I hate cold weather. Oddly, the Welshies don't. After they got the hang of it, they had to be dragged inside. Covered with little balls of snow and ice, they shiver not only with the cold, but with sheer excitement. They adore running and rolling, but feel the need to poop and pee right outside the back door! Big Boy Blue doesn't share the WT enthusiasm. With his long coat, he rushes to "take care of business" and hurry back inside. Perhaps he remembers his time as a stray, making his way in the winter cold.
The dogs would benefit if I was willing to get bundled up and head outside to play. But I hate the cold even more than Blue, so that isn't likely to happen. We practice basic obedience a few times each day - 20 Cheerios' worth of sits at a time for each dogs. It makes each of us focus on something besides white nothingness, at least for a little while.