So, Mumsie took me on the first ski this year after the great snowfall we had earlier this week.
Thing is I have been SO busy attending to all my Christmas, Kwaanza and Hanukkah parties, that I haven't had a MOMENT to myself to tell you about it.
It's not much to report, except I think I may be the only dog under 20 pounds who actually gets dragged out into fresh snow for skiing, and I deeply resent it.
It's not just that it gets my paws wet (yuck) but seriously since I am quite low to the ground, the snow grazes my pink stomach most uncomfortably. In fact, it's freezing, while mother is la di da five feet plus above me on her two sticks of legs bundled up in all her techno gear, while here I am grazing in snow that is up to my armpits.
Now I don't think SHE would be going out in snow that was up to her armpits, do you?
So she stuffs me, and I mean STUFFS me into this pack she carries for such emergencies, even though frankly I don't fit in there, and it's even COLDER inside that pack.
And this time, just because I look so cold she turns the pack around so it's facing her back, and now I feel like on top of freezing, I am going to fall out of the bag head first.
And she proceeds to ski her three miles or whatever, narrowly avoiding my head with her ski pole on every stroke, and thunking my body with every push forward, thunk, thunk, until finally it dawns on her that she is thunking, crushing and torturing me simultaneously and decides reluctantly that it's time to turn around.
All I can say is this winter stuff is not made for little munchkins like me, and I wish they would design a coat that covers my belly and my armpits so at least the next time I am tortured it's at least recoverable.