I love my children deeply and dearly, and we spend a lot of time together.  I am filled with stories and epiphanies about them that if I shared they would duct tape me upside down to the exterior of the house in a rain storm.  That leaves me with stories about my dogs.

It is January in southern Ontario and although we have yet to accumulate any quantity of snow, it has been cold and icy, and with cold and icy comes salt.  It is the season of dog boots.  I was hoping our new dog would be less sensitive to the ice and salt, but my hopes were dashed with our first slushy foray that involved not only attempts at hovering but really pathetic whimpering as well.  I have been well trained in putting winter clothing on resistant bodies having had multiple toddlers.  There is very little difference between a toddler and a dog.  The dogs will stand near the door waiting to be taken for a walk.  I reach for the pile of dog boots and…the older dog hides behind the table and flops bonelessly to the floor and tries to tuck all her paws beneath her, the younger one lowers herself and attempts to escape without notice.  Once I approach them they do not try to escape again, but start using passive resistant tactics: the doggy boneless, floppy paws, spreading or curling up their toes, the last moment tug out, trying to place all their weight on the paw I am trying to lift. They are creative in their resistance, but to no avail.  The entertainment value gives me incentive to get them out for walks on colder days, we just don’t end up going anywhere fast.