Jan 19, 2018 3 min read

It was time to start yelling at the dog.

As I stood in the sub-zero morning, a coat bundled over my nightgown and a stupid Smurfy cap pulled over my ears, I had come to the end of my rope with the dog on the end of the leash.

“Nobody likes the snow,” I said. “You are not special in your discomfort out here this morning. I don’t want to be out here either, but it’s been a long time since you’ve been outside and I know you have things you need to be doing. So get to it.”

Howard the Wheaten terrier looked back at me over his shoulder, sniffed at the snow and then turned to get back into the house. I pulled him away, this time leading him out into the yard to do his business.

Howard is not a low-slung dog, not a dachshund or basset hound or any of those dogs whose chassis are built close to the ground.

Nor is he a tiny dog who might get lost in a deep snow bank.

Howard is sturdy and plenty tall enough to get the undercarriage clearance needed to tend to his business after an eight-inch snowfall.

“Get going,” I said as I coaxed him along on the leash.

This dog is such a snowflake.

His refusal to go and do his business started as the storm came through last week. No matter how long I stood outside with him, he refused to venture past the space we cleared on the deck.

That was supposed to be my space, from which I could hold the long, retractable leash and allow Howard the 20 feet needed to go off and do this thing.

When he refused that, we went to Plan B, which was the farmer using the snow blower to carve a path from the door to the edge of the yard.

The snow was now scraped down to a manageable 1 inch. Howard had his own, tidy corridor in which to venture out to relieve himself.

But no. He wasn’t having it.

Three steps out and Howard turned around and walked back to the door.

The goal was to force Howie to move out of his comfort zone, do his thing quickly, and get back inside to his warm spot under my desk.

After 10 freezing minutes outside – with no progress – I would give up and bring him back inside. Five minutes later Howard would be standing at the door, asking to go out. By now he really needed it.

You know how dogs have no sense of time? How a dog gives the same jubilant greeting whether you’ve been gone five weeks or five minutes? That same lack of timing is causing Howard to misjudge the urgency of nature’s call and to give up before he answers it.

In warmer weather, he does his business within the first 10 steps of his walk, so he knows what he needs to do. I’ve sometimes privately mocked the little dogs out walking in sweaters and hats and booties. Ha! My dog would never wear such things.

Turns out maybe he will. If Howard doesn’t get over his snow aversion, we might need booties and maybe some earmuffs. It wouldn’t be the best look for a manly Wheaten, but when it’s 10 below and there’s snow everywhere, we’re going for speed, not beauty.