Kickass, the doorstop dog, passes along the keeper’s observations as he and Phyllis drove to a Mauston lunch date with Phyllis’s son Todd:
This cannot be Wisconsin in mid-February, this brown, snowless land with its clusters of naked trees and exposed expanses of dead grasses and bare underbrush.
Has there been some secret high-tech meteorologic scheme imposed by an arrogant force to deny Wisconsin residents the pleasures of pure white vistas, snow angels and snowmen and the likelihood of pratfalls in climbing over towering snowbanks?
Does global warming mean that Wisconsin cows linger in February in crowded cow yards taking the sun like so many Cancun tourists?
Where are the good old fashioned Canadian-born blizzards that come roaring out of the north to put everything and everybody in Wisconsin into snug shelters where they look out through windows and complain about the annoying excess snow?
Where is the February 2024 snow? Wisconsin wants to know.
IT’S COMING. MAYBE AS SOON AS TOMORROW, and the keeper needs to stop complaining and move his and Phyllis’s recliners over by the window.