I have decided I won’t be moving to the Arctic Zone. We’ve had one week of freezing temperatures here in Wirral and already the novelty has worn off.
Snow-gowned landscapes look enchanting in photographs, but the trouble with the real McCoy is that anyone brave enough to venture outside needs to be an ice-skater of Olympic status in order to navigate our treacherous pavements.
Even my dogs are bored with it now. When their shiny brown eyes first feasted on their new flawless white world they couldn’t wait to hurtle through it, pouncing and digging and having a merry doggy time. Now they keep looking at the bright sunshine and wondering why the outside temperatures don’t equate.
Fortunately our chickens are largely protected by their coop and run. Inside the coop is plenty of dry, clean hay and straw, and it’s surprising how warm it gets in there. They’ve not even stopped laying their daily egg each, which is a big tell-tale sign that all is well with them.
Maybe I should try putting my feet in a box of straw….