A Visit from the White Death.

Maybe it's my imagination, or my increasingly faulty memory, or a combination of the two, but I'm certain that when I was a kid, Cincinnati got at least four or five good, deep snows every winter. I remember waking up on a school day, looking out my window and seeing the whole neighborhood blanketed and motionless. I'd turn on the radio, praying for a snow day, and I'd listen as the DJ read the whole list of closures, dominated by the many Catholic schools in the area. I'd lie there with my fingers crossed and listen as he stumbled through all those saints' names, from Aloysius to Xavier, and I'd think, "Come on, just this once, close it. Please close it."

Then, finally, I'd hear, "And, Cincinnati Public Schools are . . . (dramatic pause to which ellipses do not do justice) . . . open!" This was usually followed by an announcement that the buses were running late, but nobody knew how late, so all students should arrive at their bus stops at the regular time -- all of which was particularly meaningful to me, since my high school was 12 or 13 miles from home. Bastards.

Now my kids attend a Catholic grade school less than a mile from our house, and the place shuts down whenever there's a prediction of possible sighting of a rain cloud. And they don't get why I'm bitter. A few months ago, I began telling them that when I was young and a student in the public schools, we didn't even get Christmas Day off. I've said it so many times now that I'm starting to believe it. Or maybe I've said it so many times because it was true, damn it.

All of which brings me to this. The snow started to fall here on Friday morning and by the time it ended early this afternoon, we had twelve inches of snow on the ground. A foot of snow! On a Saturday! I'm not sure whether a grown man should be so happy about a snowfall, but it was fantastic. The downside after-effects are already in motion; right now, for instance, I'm watching the local news and the weatherman cannot stop congratulating himself on how right his prediction was. But this morning . . . well, that was cool.

I took my kids sledding down the street, where we saw more neighbors gathered than at any other moment in the four years we've lived here. After that we came home, built a fire in the fireplace, ate lunch and they settled in for an indoor day. Usually the video games irritate me after a relatively short time, but what the hell? It's Saturday and there's a foot of snow out there.

My wife and I were supposed to have attended a formal charity event tonight. It would have been the first time in 17 years that I'd worn a tuxedo, but the event was canceled. (Probably fortunate, since I don't know how to tie a bowtie, and my frustrated, profanity-laden attempt to learn last night didn't yield much.) Thinking the event was still on, however, I decided I'd better shovel the driveway. Ordinarily, I'd just wait it out, figuring the snow would melt eventually, right? Because my boss had invited us to this thing, however, I thought I'd better do what I could to get there.

So out I went. You know what? Snow is heavy. Sure, it looks all light and fluffy like cotton candy or something, but try lifting it! I was on the front sidewalk when I felt something pop in my lower back, and I collapsed to the ground. The wind whistled by my ears as I loosed my plaintive cry, "Little help?! Little help here?!" Nobody heard.

Nobody, that is, except this brave canine. Out of nowhere, she bounded to my side, wearing one of those mini-barrels of rum on her collar. I took the rum, she popped the cork with her teeth, and I drank, deep and long. The rum was warm like a Caribbean sunset and it made me feel like a pirate. The dog looked at me, waiting for instructions, and I said, "Go, friend, and tell my family I'm hurt. Tell them to hurry! Now, go! Go!"

Off she tore into our yard and I could hear her barking at the back door. After what seemed like an hour -- I'm sure I was delirious from my injury -- the dog returned, alone. I think she shrugged her shoulders, but her valiant reaction inspired me to stagger to my feet and follow her back to my house.

I've always thought of myself as more of a cat person, but I'll tell you what, this is one smart dog. First, a daring rescue and now, she's helped me find a way to pass off this injury as a workers' comp claim. Next stop, long term disability!

Man, what a great Saturday!