Here’s the routine at our house when it’s time for the dog to go out. There’s no doggy-door. There’s no letting her out to roam (I’m too paranoid of skunk stink for that). We always go out together. She relieves herself, and I get the excuse of grabbing some fresh air, a look at the sky, and the chance to hear the quiet of my rural place. Or the birds in the daytime, owls at night.

We head out ritually first thing when we’re up in the morning, and last thing before bed. In between, we go out “as needed”—either for her sake or mine. It’s probably an even split, really. Often, when she has become impatient with my concentration on the keyboard, she approaches from behind my desk chair and bumps my right elbow. I’m sure she recognizes it as my mouse arm, because she’s very adept at waiting until I’m just about to click on something before her well-aimed nudge. Sometimes we have words over it.

Other times, I reach a point in my work where I need a break. I scoot my chair back, she lifts her gaze, I turn and we agree: yes, let’s go out.

This is easy in summer. There are several doors we can use, and we step away from the demands of human life into the welcome embrace of the natural world. We might use the excuse of feeding the birds, or taking the compost bucket out to the pile, or heading out on our Morning Mile, but really, it’s always about drinking from the well of what feeds my soul regardless of the weather.

But in winter? My poor dog! The human among us (me) can’t just step outside when it’s snowy, cold, blowing. We have to go to the front hall through two (sometimes three, in really bitter temps) sets of closed doors from the office.

Then she sits and watches me. And watches, and watches.
I start by removing my slippers.
On the worst days, I’ll trade out my indoor garb for the fleece-lined pants.

Then here’s what has to happen:

Boots (laced, doubled knotted)
Boot gaitors (if the snow is deep), velcro’d and hooked into my boot laces
Fleece vest (zipped)
Liner coat (zipped)
Neck gaitor (doubled over on top), or scarf
Outer coat (zipped)
Baseball cap
Wool hat over the baseball cap
Liner gloves
Outer gloves
Cellphone (zipped into an outer pocket)

The whole time, my canine companion sits patiently, staring at me. I swear she’s laughing at me, but maybe it’s just the Zen of Dog Waiting For Human. I look at her, and chuckle: here I am, bundling up my fragile human-ness and she’s just waiting. Because, except on super-bitter days, guess what?

All she has to put on (and this only first thing in the morning) is her collar.
(In the spirit of full disclosure: Mayzie gets a red coat in the worst weather....but it only takes about 30 seconds to put on...)

Ready? Whatcha been waiting for?
Let’s go!