the broken typewriter

I think global warming enthusiasts throughout Canada would be eating their words this week, what with the extreme cold warnings across the country – not to mention the 2cm of snow and bitterly cold -10C temperatures in Vancouver.

Up here in the frozen north, this is just normal January weather, finally.

After being blessed with what’s been characterized as unseasonably warm weather – keeping in mind that December 1993 was also quite warm, with no snow until Christmas Day – this week has been a bit of a shock to the system. Not because I didn’t expect it, but because a few things happened that don’t normally.

My car froze. That hasn’t happened to me since January 1994. This time I had no battery blanket like I did back in the day on my 1987 Hyundai Pony. No, my current vehicle usually spends the winter in the garage. But it wasn’t cold, until now. Ooops. Also, couldn’t do the awesome trick of pouring a little gas in the carburetor and lighting it to get it started, because of the lovely big hunk of plastic cowling GM has decided needs to cover my engine. Thankfully, we have a charger, and I didn’t have to go anywhere in a hurry.

The other thing that had never happened to me before in the cold, in this place where I have spent most of my life, is problems with livestock. Specifically, the chickens.

Our rooster is devoted to his ladies. He guards them well – he gets in between them and the very large puppy because he doesn’t trust her. The older dogs are fine with the chickens – and he sleeps in the doorway, so that he’s between them and danger. Which is great when it’s not -35C and feels like -46C.

Silly boy doesn’t know when to come in out of the cold. So, hubby found him, huddled on the floor at 7:30 in the morning, almost frozen as the temp was -18C where he was. Poor Karl spent most of the morning wrapped in a towel in my arms, inside the house, thawing. Then he moved to a dog kennel in the mudroom where he slept for most of the day. As he thawed, we noticed he’d managed to get frostbite on his comb and wattles.

That was Wednesday. He’s apparently supposed to be kept warm until the frostbite heals, and it can’t get wet, so he’s enjoying a “tropical” holiday in the garage with the farm dogs.

Karl’s feeling more himself today, as he started crowing again, much to the disgust of his canine roommates. The oldest dog looked at me as if to say, “Mom, please make him stop!” But you can’t tell a rooster to stop crowing. Which is probably one of the reasons you’re not allowed chickens in town.

Needless to say, that’s why there haven’t been many stories from me this week. I’ve covered things, I just haven’t had a chance to finish writing them up. But they’re coming, I promise. More from City Council, some from the Regional District meeting, plus a couple of other stories I’m working on.