The bitter cold we're having reminds me of a time years ago when my father and I had to transport several sick cats back and forth to the vet's. Dad was one of the gentlest men I've ever known, but he hated the cold with a passion.
"If cold was a living thing, I'd kick it in the shins!" he told me.
"And I'd hold it down," I admitted with a shiver.
"I'd pound on its head until its eyes popped," he continued.
The conversation got more gruesome each time we went out. Neither of us could believe the other could even come up with such horrible stuff.
I just went out in -2 windchill to feed the birds and squirrels--and ya' know, if winter was a living thing, I think I'd pull its hair out by the roots!
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