My family moved to Iowa when I was five. Since then, I’ve lived in Indiana and Wisconsin. Proper winter—with snow, ice, harsh winds, and lingering darkness—has been an annual constant for most of my life. But I don’t feel like I really knew how to deal with it until I got a dog.
Before we got a dog, we spent our winters mostly indoors. For a while, I had underground parking at my apartment and at my job, so I could (and often did) go for days without ever being properly outside. Really, “winter” meant spending my time curled up on the couch watching television under a blanket, occasionally bemoaning the endless darkness.
Dogs, though. Dogs are creatures, maybe the creature-i-est creatures, and creatures have a hard time staying cooped up inside. It’s even harder if the creature is young and bouncy, which Lily was when we got her. Creatures need to go outside and stretch their muscles and breathe in fresh air and pee on things.
And it turns out, going outside makes winter bearable.
Lily gets me up early. Sometimes it’s before the sunrise and sometimes it isn’t—depends on the day and on the dog—but it’s definitely early. If it snowed overnight, it’s almost certainly before my friendly neighborhood humans have started clearing their walks and drives. It’s cold, maybe bitterly, especially in January or February (the two months that last ten thousand years). But the dog is up, so I need to be up, because she needs to be outside and I need to take her.
Not long after I got a dog, I got a parka. And good gloves. And a hat. (I made the hat.) And a good sweater. (I considered making the sweater, but decided that I wanted a sweater this year.) And thermal shirts and long underwear. And good socks. And better boots. And a new pair of good gloves because all gloves seek freedom. And Yak Trax. And lights, for me and for the dog, because I’m often walking in the dead of night, also known as “the time between 4:30 PM and 7:30 AM.”
And all of a sudden, I’m the kind of person who says things like “There is no bad weather, only bad clothing,” even though I don’t entirely believe it. (There is bad weather, but good clothing can make it more tolerable.) I’m happier, because I’m out in the sun for at least a little bit every day. My muscles get to stretch. I’m breathing fresh air. I’m not peeing on any trees, but I can name the trees Lily pees on, mostly. And I spend a lot less time bemoaning things.
For me, that is the secret of winter: You are also a creature. There is a part of you that wants to bound through the woods, that wants to hear the ice crunch beneath your feet. Keep it warm, and it will help the rest of you survive.