Feels like minus 24

We bundle up. Me: layers of wool, fleece and down. Hat and gloves. (According to a weather alert they're required because outside it feels like minus 24 against bare skin.) Dogs: booties and jackets. Without their gear there's no walk at all. Packaged in our warmest wear, we make our way into the neighborhood. For the first time we witness the snow plows while on foot (or paw). The plows are huge. (Like so big and giant and not so friendly.) We stick to sunny sides of the street. I am thankful that the sun shines because it's too cold for clouds. Floyd finds a pine tree and takes care of his first business. Lila follows. The ridge along my brow, the only skin not covered, is beginning to burn. I pull the hat farther down while still allowing sight. Down the street another dog walker heads towards us. (Ah, we are not the only ones.) The two dogs are Nordic breeds. Mine are pugs. Seventy-two degrees, low humidity is their preference.) We return home and undress in reverse. I glance out. A woodpecker is at the feeder.