The Trickle-down Effects of a Bitterly Cold Winter

I am trickling. Steadily, noisily, and hopefully, all night.

We're all trickling this winter, leaving our water faucets slightly open throughout the night to protect our pipes from the bitter cold.

It's a nasty winter to start a dog-walking business, not as much for a human - who can dress in multiple layers of clothing - as a dog. When a canine lifts its paws to avoid contact with the earth, it's cold. Dog-gone cold. (Sorry.)

On cold days, it's also lonely at the dog park. I'm not nearly as good at entertaining my clients as one of their peers. I know the play posture - slightly crouched, hands on thighs, a mischievous look in the eye - but because I draw the line at partaking in the getting-to-know-you olfactory rituals, our ability to interact as true playmates is limited.

Worse than the cold and loneliness, when the temperature drops well below freezing, many owners cancel scheduled dog walks. This may be good for the dog, but it leaves the walker out in the financial cold. A decidely chilly place, especially when it's time to pay the heating bill.

I have no one to blame for it but myself, however. Late last summer, I pet sat two dogs whose owner had recently transplanted here from Iowa. A native Wisconsinite, I felt an immediate weather bond with her. We hailed from the same bitterly cold, stickily hot climate. I knew her pain.

Happily, confidently, I told her those days were behind her. "You'll love the winters in Denver. They are so mild!"

A small shiver passed through me as I said those words. A harbinger, it turns out, of things to come.

She and her dogs later moved to Parker, and out of my service area. Though I'd lost a client, I felt satisfied I'd given her good news, something to look forward to as the days shortened and winter crept gently in.

Somewhere in Parker, she is cursing me. Yet I know we still share a bond, only now it's of a slightly different flavor. On these most bitter of nights, I know she is trickling, too.