An’ she said
With a tear in her eye:
Watch out where the huskies go
An’ don’t you eat that yellow snow
~ Frank Zappa, Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow
The end of January. In Finland. This usually means – at least in our area – when you look outside, there’s snow and ice. A wonderful white winter wonderland.
Well, or at least that’s what I saw. Before we got our dog…
The husband started working in shifts. So now every time the dog needs to be taken for its walkies, the son needs to come, too. In his green bobsleigh the son was able to broaden my perspective on this otherwise so gorgeous sight that is a white and grey Finnish winter scenery…
“Yeah?”, I ask breathless hanging in between the dog leash – pulled by the dog – and the bobsleigh – pulled by me.
“What are these brownish clots in the snow?”
“Poo-poo. Or some other dirt… What ever it is, don’t touch it!”
“Who’s poo-poo?”, he’s interested.
“Some dog’s?! I don’t know…” And just maybe I don’t really want to know.
“And all the yellow bits and puddles?”, he wants to know reaching out his gloved hands to them.
“Frozen or fresh pee. Don’t touch it!”
“What is this orange sludge?”, he inquires.
“Someone had one too many…”, I mumble.
“A pool of sick. Don’t touch it!”
In fact I give it a very wide berth.
“What’s this red stuff?”, he asks pointing at something.
I take a closer look.
It really is dark red. Crimson. Bloody, maybe. Otherwise pretty undefinable.
“Most certainly… disgusting… don’t touch it!”
“This is so boring!”, the son complains. “I want to touch something. What can I touch?”
“The pure, white snow in our own backyard, dumpling… our own backyard! Pure… white… snow!”
Oh, colorful winter!
P.S. Just so you don’t think I’m taking my son to inappropriate neighborhoods: the barf turned out to be a melted firework rocket and I believe the bloody mess was the leftovers of a lucky cat’s hunting success. We live in a very child-friendly, rural village. 😉