It snowed last night. I know, I know. If you live in an area prone to snow, this is not something worth talking about. But being someone who did not grow up in a snowy climate, and as someone who has only experienced snow a total of maybe 15 times in my 34 years of life… this is big news.
My husband was on the road (of course) and missed the fun. Though, he’s been dealing with snow the entire time he’s been on the road this run, so I guess he wouldn’t exactly call it “fun.” But I digress. I was that person running out in the snow with the camera like I’d never seen this fluffy white stuff in my whole life.
I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it when we talked. I went on and on about the fluffy, fat flakes that fell. I gushed over the half-inch (yeah, go ahead and snicker, I did) of powder that covered everything. He was amused. I think.
We talked a long time. He was driving the bus (using hands-free bluetooth!) and had nothing but straight roads ahead of him. Suddenly I heard… something. I got quiet and shushed my husband. What was that sound?
My husband encouraged me to look around. “Look for tracks in the snow!” he said with a laugh. I scoffed that it didn’t sound like what I heard was on our property, but more like down the road. But I got up to look around nonetheless.
I look out our upstairs bathroom window and what do I see.
TRACKS IN THE SNOW LEADING RIGHT UP TO OUR BACK DECK.
I asked my husband, “Why does this crap have to happen then your hundreds of miles away?”
I tried to stay calm, but I was freaking out inside. I commented that the track pattern reminded me more of an animal than a person, but still. There were tracks in the snow! AAAH!
I looked out every window. I couldn’t see anything around. And I couldn’t get a good enough angle to tell what kind of tracks they really were.
After about half an hour of me freaking out, my husband suggested I step outside to get a better look. IS HE CRAZY!?! I wasn’t going out there! No way. No how. Nuh uh. Not happening.
Oh okay, maybe just a quick look.
I grudgingly put my boots on. Terrified, yes. But curiosity getting the best of me. I demanded he stay on the line with me, and if something happened he had to call 9-1-1. I felt like I was giving a good bye speech.
I slowly cracked open the backdoor. The same one I had frolicked out of earlier in the night with glee. I listened. Silence. Only the dripping of melting snow off the roof. I gingerly stepped outside. Turned on my flashlight. On high alert. I peered over the edge of the deck. And there they were.
Perfect. Large. Undeniable. Dog prints.
I think they heard my sigh of relief in the next state. Dog prints. They were dog prints. Just dog prints! No serial killer out to get me! Just a cold, lonely dog wandering the neighborhood.
My husband said he was proud of me for being so brave. I just felt silly. But also very relieved to know what the tracks were. We said good night not long after and I crawled into bed secure in the knowledge that I did not have a bad guy creepin’ on me that night.
But I still ask… WHY does this kind of thing only happen when my husband is on the road? Overactive imagination, I’m sure. But still…