We seem to be in the middle of one of those superstorms I’m always hearing about. I suppose we are due. Mother Nature keeps sending us messages nobody seems to want to hear.

Dogs have their own way of dealing with crisis. Tonight, for the first time since she came, we let Zinnia out of her pens and crates, and she made a beeline for the fireplace, where she joined Bud and Fate asleep in front of the woodstove.

It seemed like a good bet for her, so she joined in, a sense of our future. Zinnia is already beginning to look like a dog and not just like a puppy. The pack has reformed. Fate was comfortable sleeping near her, Bud was happy to be sandwiched in between.

I have this feeling we’re getting the brunt of this one, we’ve already got nine or ten inches and every time we look out the window, there’s a lot more The dogs have the right idea.