Children in the Snow

By Shawna Troke-Leukert

A grown-up is a child with layers on.

~Woody Harrelson

My husband Eric and I awoke to the loud sound of a howling dog. "Nanook wants to go outside to do his business," yawned Eric, stretching his arms into the air. "I'll take him." Eric rolled the covers back and slowly made his way out of bed.

A minute later I heard, "No way! I can't believe it."

I opened my eyes again. "What is it?"

"Shawna, the entire front door has been snowed in. We can't get out!" Eric's voice carried through the house.

Eric had opened the inside door and was staring at the glass window of the outside aluminum door. The door that was usually transparent was completely white.

"We'll have to use the back door," I said.

Eric shook his head. "It's also snowed in."

"What are we going to do?"

Nanook the Husky let out a howl as he paced the floor. He needed to go outside to do his morning business.

"I know," said Eric. "I'll try going out the window."

We walked into the living room and opened the drapes to expose our wide window. "The snow is just below the window frame," he said. "I'll get my coat and boots on and jump down first. If it's safe for the dog to come out you can guide him through."

A moment later, Eric stood on a living room chair and turned the window handle. A rush of cold fresh air flowed into the room as it opened outward, leaving a space large enough for an adult to fit through.

He put one foot up on the window ledge and then the other. The ice beneath him made crackling sounds.

"Be careful," I admonished.

Eric crouched down so he could sit on the ledge. He pushed his bottom to the edge of the windowsill until his right foot lightly touched the snow just two feet below. Grabbing onto the edge of the windowsill he tested the stability of the snow under foot.

"It feels solid." He slid his second foot down. "Okay," he said, "you can send Nanook out."

I clipped the leash onto Nanook's collar and tapped on the chair below the window with my free hand. He looked at me and then looked in the direction of the door. He had never gone out the window before and couldn't understand what I wanted. I had to lift his front legs onto the chair and then his rear end quickly followed. Outside the open window Eric kept repeating, "Come on Nanook, this way."

"Go with Eric." I encouraged. "Go outside." As Nanook leaped out the window I let go of his leash. Jumping around in the snow and wagging his tail while Eric patted him on the head, he was finally free to do his business.

"Come out and join us, Shawna," Eric said with a big smile on his face.

I quickly put on my boots and coat. Standing on the living room chair I climbed onto the ledge of the open windowsill. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I would be leaving my house through the living room window. It made me feel the way I did on my first trip to the playground as a child — nervous, but excited. I let go and jumped down into the snow below me. Once my feet were firm beneath me, I joyfully jumped around with Eric and Nanook. I looked up at the white snowdrifts and glistening ice that covered the walls and doors of our house. It looked like a house made of snow from a children's storybook.

That day the child inside of me let loose. My husband and I romped around in the snow with our dog for hours.

"Nanook probably thinks he is back in the Arctic," I said, as we watched him roll around on his back. And then we both laughed at our dog. It took us a few days, but we did eventually clear paths to both our doors.

Nineteen years later, we don't usually get the same snowfall amounts on the southwest corner of the island of Newfoundland as we did back then. But every winter my husband and I find ourselves reminiscing about the day we had to use the living room window as a door, and the fun we had playing like children in the snow with our dog. That winter storm left us with truly precious memories.

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