For whatever reason, Abby likes snow. Maybe growing up in the lower mainland of British Columbia where most of our snow comes in its liquified form has made her love it all the more. You always want what you can't have.
That makes me question whether we are related. My idea of winter sport is opening and closing the door as quickly as possible so the dog can squeeze outside to do his business all on his own.
I wasn't always like that. I grew up in north-eastern Ontario. I used to snowshoe and cross-country ski. I even had my own snowmobile when I was a kid. But I am an adult now. (Thank you Moe Berg!) My main winter responsibilities consist of swimming through the slush that people refuse to shovel from their sidewalks because they know it will melt eventually -- and shovelling my sidewalks while trying to ignore the numbness in my left arm.
But Abby believes in snow angels and forts and snow tubing at Mach-Two down Mount Seymour. Even when she caught a tube with her pink frosty face, she was still ready for more gravity-propelled fun.
I am not totally against winter sport. Next time it snows, Abby and I will sit outside and see who can down a hot fudge sundae the fastest.
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