Here’s Mini, hiking through a scale model Grand Canyon of snow, wondering why her yard is suddenly so narrow. (Off to the right of me, actually, is a snow “ramp” she uses to get up on top of the pile, where she’ll roam around and do her business. If she ever sinks in, she better hope the leash doesn’t break or we won’t see her again until spring.)
I think this is our record, though, taken in February of 2008. That was the year people were blowing the snow into the beds of their pickup trucks because there was literally no place else to put it. (Random, irrelevant trivia: This picture was taken two days after Mini was born…in Arizona.)
Edited to add: That’s not standing snowfall, by the way. That includes snow blown down from the top driveway. (Don’t want anybody thinking we’re that crazy to live here.)
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Our 8-month-old puppy thankfully loves the snow. This is the second time this winter, the snow is taller than he is. He loves to run across the top of the snow, but sinks when he hits a soft spot. So I am glad he’s black as I can usually still spot him.
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I guess Mini was about that old heading into our first winter together. I was very nervous about her and when snow hit, I went out with the shovel, making sure the yard was clear for my delicate little frou-frou doggy.
I can’t her out of (or off of) the snow banks. She loves snow and just dives right in. More than once I’ve had to haul her back out by the leash. Luckily, between the snowblower throwing it and the yard being in full sun all day, it gets pretty firm and she’s learned to scramble if she hits a soft spot.
Crazy dogs!