It started snowing yesterday afternoon, and by six o'clock all the local newscasts were featuring live shots of reporters standing by a busy highway and warning the public to stay inside.
For a change, the storm actually merited the hype, and we awoke to more than a foot of snow. Samson wasn't sure what to make of it at first [I have no idea if he remembers the snow in Woodstock on Thanksgiving], but he seemed willing to check it out.
Until we put his boots on.
It was if we'd outfitted him with a pair of 19th-century diving boots [you know, the kind worn by those little figures at the bottom of your aquarium?].
He absolutely refused to move. At one point, he had himself turned halfway around to see his mother, and his feet were as firmly planted as if he was Superman in a pair of green kryptonite slip-ons. [For the record, Samson's boots are blue and are made, I think, of rubber and rip-stop nylon.]
However, once we got him outside --- and picked him up from his inaugural face plant in the snow --- he seemed to like it just fine.
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