I’m so off the Snow Days.
As a kid there was nothing more exciting than a Snow Day. Unless it was a series of Snow Days.
God Bless a good blizzard (oh, how things change as we get older).
When I became a teacher, I continued my affair with the Snow Day (and by affair I mean… never mind, a hot and steamy relationship with a weather event is just weird).
As a principal, I began to see the Snow Day as an interruption in the educational process. But I got over that about halfway through my 3rd nap of the Snow Day Day (say that fast 3 times).
Now I’m a Superintendent (unless you’ve heard something… and trust me, it’s just a matter of time) and the Snow Day is my enemy.
You might think I don’t like Snow Days because I have to get up early to check the roads and cancel school.
Nope.
You might think I hate Snow Days because it means we have to add days onto the school calendar in May (when it is warm).
Nope.
You may even believe that my newfound disgust for the Snow Day comes from the fact that I’m stuck in my house with the Evil Spawn and her creepy 3rd grade friends (who force me to buy them lunch and watch my TV).
Nope.
It’s Buddy the Dog.
This may come as a shock because on the outside, Buddy and I seem to have the perfect relationship.
He gets my unconditional love and worship and I get my ego stroked when he jumps around in circles and wags his tail whenever we haven’t seen each other for more than 2 minutes.
It’s magic.
But like all relationships, this one requires a great deal of work.
It’s all about give and take.
I give him food and then take him for a walk. Everyone’s happy.
Until the Snow Day.
Don’t misunderstand me, Buddy the Dog loves a good Snow Day(s).
They are his free ticket to sleeping inside the house on a weekday. A cold, snowy weekday. Plus the creepy 3rd graders rub his belly.
He couldn’t be happier.
Me, not so much.
Turns out walking Buddy on a Snow Day isn’t as much fun as it sounds.
Why?
Because it’s not safe. It’s come to my attention that it’s slick outside during a Snow Day.
Plus, he’s rested, I’m not.
He has 4 feet and a low center of gravity. I have 2, and I’m old with the reflexes of someone my age.
He likes to chase things (rabbits, leaves, trash) through the untouched 6 inches of snow in yards/ditches/fields.
I like to walk in the center of a freshly cleared road.
We could work through these differences except we are attached by a long thin rope (that’s a leash for you dog haters).
While Buddy is a good boy, he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of giving me a heads up before taking off in a dead sprint (when you watch him sleep, 21 hours a day, you would have no idea he’s got Olympic caliber speed).
Let’s not kid ourselves, we may have communication issues.
On 7 occasions (yes, 7) he caused me to slip, slide, wobble, topple, and about fall on my big white-collar job behind during our Snow Day walks.
While walking, I was a stressed out mess.
Every step could have been my last.
The first 6 times he tried to kill me, I caught myself.
The last one, I wasn’t so lucky.
As I lay in the middle of the street trying to regain my composure and catch my breath, Buddy seemed upset.
The only thing I’m wondering. Was he upset because I slipped and fell, or because I survived?
If Buddy was a trained killer… wouldn’t he have a middle name?


For some mysterious reason, there seems to be more interest in my blog when I write about my family than when I write about educational issues.