I don't think two dogs in the world hate snow as much as River and Pocket. As soon as they get outside, they're pulling to come back indoors. Frankly, I find their behavior embarrassing in the extremist. They wouldn't have lasted ten seconds as a wolf.
River has become so fed up with winter she prayed for it to go away. Of course, I intercepted the request. If the other angels knew my sister was filing a frivolous prayer request, a violation of the prayer rules, I would never live it down.
I went into her dreams and told her that when I was young and lived at the condo, Blake and I would drink extra water in the winter and then pee on the snow, causing it to melt. I suggested to River that she and Pocket do the same.
Of course, I had created the story as a prank. I needed to teach my sister to only use prayers as a last resort. I didn't expect her to embrace the idea wholeheartedly.
The next morning she told Pocket they needed to drink as much as possible to melt all the snow. Pocket looked at River and asked if it was my idea.
"Of course, I prayed to our angel sister, and she kindly instructed me how to melt the offending snow."
"Foley lies," Pocket said correctly and succulently.
"She is our guardian angel," River argued. "She is not allowed to lie!"
Sweet, innocent, gullible River, how I do love her.
At first, Pocket refused to drink any extra water, but she soon fell victim to the River stare, and like an alcoholic just receiving her one month chip, she bellied up to the bowl and did a shot of our finest water.
The difference between River and Pocket, or Pocket and any other dog, is that her bladder holds less pee than her mouth holds water. When Pocket puts liquid in, some must be expelled. Like a ticking time bomb, you usually have a minute to get Pocket outside after she pees. If you don't, then Pocket piddles a puddle in the parlor.
Pocket did not get out in time and peed on the floor. This made you angry, and you yelled at her. This caused a nervous Pocket to pee more, much to River’s delight and mine as well.
It became apparent that Pocket would be no help in the impossible task of melting the snow with pee. River tried to do it herself but soon learned her bladder did not contain the necessary volume. River could not do it alone.
The next time River went out, she peed for two minutes, only melted a couple of inches, and then decided to create a team. She knocked on the skirt under the house. When Ugly Joan stuck her head out, River asked her if she could pee on the snow to melt it. “I don’t pee on the snow,” Joan said. “I am not an animal.”
The next morning River got out of bed and barked at the turkeys who hunt in our back yard for food each morning. She asked them to pee on the snow. “We’re turkeys. We don’t pee,” the flock leader squeaked. River told them that they were silly, everyone pees. “Have you ever seen a turkey pee?” he asked. Befuddled, River admitted she didn’t. “Then leave us alone,” the turkey said.
I was feeling bad for River, so I made it rain the next evening. By the time River awoke, the snow was gone. She gave a loud, excited yip and told Pocket that she had melted the snow with her pee. Pocket did not think that was true but congratulated her anyway, not wanting to argue early in the morning.
I am going to let River think she melt the snow for a while. She could use a victory.