The wind is blowing so hard, my back door just swung open. Mind you, there is another door and a small, old-fashioned entryway where I hang coats and line up boots, between “outside” and the back door that creaked open. That means the wind muscled its way through the doggie door to push the heavier inner door ajar. The boys jumped from their fuzzy bed near my desk to investigate. Right behind them, I clicked the deadbolt closed so it wouldn’t happen again.

The sky is only a slightly grayer shade of white than the snow covering the ground and clinging in determined chunks to the dried zebra grass I see outside the window, next to the garage. That plot of ornamental grass is cut low and is the color of cookies now, but it springs up above my head by late summer, sharp-edged fronds finely striped in an emerald green and white pattern. For the dogs it’s a popular spot for lifting a leg, any time of year. The plant is, apparently, impervious to canine fluids.

Ginny and I had planned to meet for lunch today, but the morning brought those blustery winds with snow, then sleet and freezing rain. I’m grateful I wasn’t on the road earlier with all those poor souls creeping and sliding to work during rush hour. I experienced plenty of those years, so I am especially grateful on every day like this one that I can stay inside, safe and warm. I always pause to send out my good intentions – to all the single moms, to the inexperienced, young drivers, to someone elderly with an early doctor’s appointment, to all the doctors, nurses and staff who are driving carefully to be at work, intent on healing and bringing comfort. May you all get to your destinations without incident. To my sweet son driving to his office at the University of Akron to prepare for next week’s classes. To each every one of you on the roads, for whatever reason, I wish you safe travels.

And even if the roads were clear and the sun were shining, I’m afraid I’d have to postpone meeting my dear friend, anyway. Yesterday afternoon I took Mick and Rich to the vet for yearly shots. They ate their dinner not long after we got home, but as the evening progressed, Little Richard became increasingly out of sorts. When he is not feeling well, he scares himself. Such a fragile, neurotic little guy. He shivers uncontrollably and acts as if he’s on death’s door. When Rich somehow uncurls his buoyant tail and tucks it between his legs, you know he’s one miserable pup – even if the event is unlikely to be serious at all.

This morning he is better, but still a little shaky and lethargic. That’s saying a lot for a dog with the nervous energy of a terrier. And  Mr. What-time’s-my-next-meal? Mick only picked at his breakfast. For Mick to be off his feed, something is definitely amiss. Whether reacting a bit to the inoculations, or to the stress of going to the doctor – or a combination of the two – the boys are just off today. I’ll keep an eye on them and hope their usual joie de vivre returns soon.

Anyone else remember that wonderful old television police drama, “Hill Street Blues?” Every morning after briefing, Sergeant Phil Esterhaus would send off his staff of police and detectives to their morning’s work saying, “Let’s be careful out there.” That has stuck with me, somehow.

May your day of work and school, errands or appointments, go nicely – and do be careful going home.