Nude Angels
M Alan Roberts

What's that outside - is that rain? It's strange looking; let me open the door here. Whoa! It's slushy rain - almost snow. That's really odd for Georgia. I haven't seen this here before and it's been almost three years since I moved here. It rarely even ever rains - let alone gets slushy. This drought state is the home to the most misery-filled period of my existence. I can't wait to move somewhere that houses life instead of just huge, old-fashioned government and outrageously restrictive social control measures. It's like this entire state is one massive experiment in repression.

Hey, wait a minute here - this slushy rain is transforming further. It actually looks like...no it can't be...it IS snow! I see the flakes coming. They're huge! How cool is this? "Buckethead, c'mere boy! You've never seen snow have you? This means only one thing. If any of this actually covers this soaked ground, we are heading outside to explore it. Let's see if you do the snowplow other lab-type dogs."

Wow, this snow is really falling. I haven't seen snow like this since Dutch Harbor, Alaska in 2005. These flakes are really big. I mean, one flake is almost 1/5 of the size of my hand! They are covering the ground too. Where's the camera? I have to capture this late winter storm in Georgia in pictures and send them to my family and friends. Nobody will believe it can snow like this in miserable, dry Georgia!

Holy Moly, 2 hours in and it's snowing harder than ever. The ground has over 4 inches on it already, and it looks like it's just getting going. I can't get over how big these individual flakes are. It's like a dream. "Buckethead, let's go outside. It's time for you to be introduced to white love." Opening the door and stepping aside to make room for my beastly friend's hasty exit, I see instant confusion surface in his already mostly-empty mind. And then...the charge!

In true Pitt-Lab style, Buckethead crashes onto the scene and immediately sets about his plan for total domination. Except this time, he has not considered the fact that snow is quite slippery - and he Scooby-Doo's out and falls from his midpoint back. With his rear legs and rear end on the ground, and his front legs still standing, he takes a second to gather his limited wits. He considers what has happened, and then once again assaults the environment - like the passionate invading force that he is.

He reminds me of the first time that I ever went snow skiing. Clumsy, uncoordinated and blocky, he continues to retrain his overwhelmed mind for the balance and grace that seem impossible. I venture away and proceed to engage in what I know truly calls me: making snow angels. Buckethead sees me as I work my arms and legs back in forth in parabolic arcs. He comes near and attempts one of his own. Laying on his back, he kicks and scoots around the ground, making canine-based snow prints of his own. Unlike the human version, his snow angels are more like snow demons: no wings, no dress, pointy ear prints - and a tail.

We traverse to the back yard to visit the world's most excellently-cool Rhode Island Red rooster, Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck. He is confined to his pin - and his blank, beaked stare begs for release. He wishes to face the ever-present dangers of hawks, and join Buckethead and I on our natural excursion. I succumb to his request and release the latch that keeps his door locked from the outside. Hesitant at first, he lays down some Fonzi-like clucking - and then emerges to prospect this foreign domain. Buckethead takes the opportunity to chivvy him around the yard until he finds his next distraction.

Safe from the onslaught of his canine brother, the rooster's instinct to scratch for food kicks in - and he begins. He too has not anticipated the slick nature of the white covering. His scratching is exaggerated. As he slides backwards a little too far with each leg kicked, he resembles Michael Jackson on a polished stage: moon walking, in rooster rhythm.

Satiated for outdoors adventure, I place Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck back in his pin, call for Buckethead, and then head back for the warmth of the house. It seems as though I have taken on quite a chill here today. However, if you don't take the time occasionally to enjoy nature's gifts, then you miss out on a lot of fun - and beneficial exercise as well. Snow is Georgia is even rarer than rain. Hopefully the next time it ever snows around here, my animals and I will have moved on - definitely to a place that has more to offer than redneck cops and over-zealous judges.

I wonder if making naked snow angels is illegal in Georgia anyway. Oh well, got away with it this time.