A Perfect Description

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 6.03% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

So it snowed here yesterday.  Like, really snowed.  Like eight-inch drifts everywhere, to the point where walking the dog down to the end of the block was literally all the exercise I could take; walking through deep snow is deep cardio, mang.
Gini took the evening shift, as she always does, and between the constant crush of snowplows packing the snow in and it riming over with ice, the snow had a hard crust.  Which made it no easier walking around the end of the block, where nobody ever shovels.
“I was struggling,” Gini told me when she got back.  “My feet were punching through the ice, and I had to yank my legs out of the morass.  Meanwhile, fucking light little Shasta here was walking across the top of the snow like she was goddamned Legolas!”
When I took her for a walk this morning, indeed.  I’m thrashing through the snow, she’s daintily walking across the top.  Just like goddamned Legolas.

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