This morning we had our heaviest snowfall yet. Which was very pretty, as usual!
It iced the neighbor's trees...
And our patio set.
Out back I slog to go free the chickens from their snug, heated coop so they could stare in disbelief at this fresh Hell. And throw blame where it obviously lies, with me.
The snow out back was a bit deeper and came up halfway to my knees (But I'm quite short, so take that into consideration, it's possibly not as impressive as it sounds at first blush). The walkway had disappeared...
And opening the gate to the chicken yard required me having a go at the snow with a shovel first.
In the chicken yard I plonked down the ruler I'd brought along...
The chicken yard, for a change, looks uniformly pretty. Bonus: the snow covers all those eternally present damned rocks.
My future vegetable garden area sealed off by snow.
And the neighbor's trees were gorgeous!
By now the sun was coming up and it was time to release the pissy poultry.
The backyard weather station says, 'Snow!'
Yup, chickens not happy. This is as far as they venture out of the coop all day, because God forbid a chicken foot *ever* touch snow. Goodies are promised for later.
Back into the back yard near the house to let Dusty out to do her thing.
Which due to the depth of the snow combined with her short stature, she is understandably reluctant to do.
But in the end she dutifully slogs through the snow to pick her spot. A full bladder cannot be denied.
She compromises when the snow becomes too deep and abandons her regular pee spot, instead squatting *very* carefully behind the tree. I feel for ya, dog. Hovering so your lady bits do not contact undesireable surfaces is an art all we ladies eventually learn.
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