Beware the Winter Wonderland

A winter walk may be dangerous, as anyone from a cold, snowy climate can verify. Usually the danger lies in hypothermia, frostbite, or a slip and fall on black ice.

But I wasn't concerned when my dog and I set out for an adventure one icy day in January. The temperature hovered around freezing on the Fahrenheit scale, not that cold by Michigan standards. Michiganders don't really start complaining until the temperature drops below zero.

We know how to brave the cold: snow pants and coat, hat and gloves, scarf and insulated boots with good grip on the soles. On truly frigid days, I had a ski mask which left only breathing holes for nose and mouth, like a bad parody of a superhero. But that day I reveled in the cold stinging my bare face, and before long I had unzipped my coat from exertion.

Gustav, being a Rough Collie ("Lassie" dog), had a glorious full coat to keep him warm. He trotted merrily along, wolf-like in his joy. Every so often, he came to me for assistance removing ice balls from between his paw pads. He could get them out himself but preferred I do it. My fingers were more adept than his fangs, but also more prone to freeze. It was a labor of love.

Accompanying us that day was my sister's dog, a Doberman Pinscher x Rottweiler crossbreed who looked like a perpetual puppy. Mace (short for Mason) wasn't quite as trustworthy off leash. He wouldn't run away from us, but he ranged farther than I liked. Whenever he came along, I attached a training leash (20 feet or 6 meters) to his collar to keep him closer.

We left the road to cut through a farmer's fallow field. A country block is not a city block, so the detour would shorten the trip home by miles. Still, a hike through a plowed-under field is rough going. Plow machinery leaves the ground broken and furrowed in no discernible pattern. Just jagged ridges and valleys that seem small until treading the uneven terrain.

I was concentrating on not tripping, so didn't see the danger until the moment before my dog fell into it. I called a warning to Gus, who turned toward me. Then he disappeared in a swirl of snow.

The snow bank had drifted over the side of a deep drainage ditch, giving it a false edge. While the drifted snow had a nice crust that held Gus's 75 pounds (34 kg), it was not strong enough to hold him up without ground support.

Entire cars can be lost to sight when they skid off icy roads into drainage ditches. Some ditches are practically small rivers with steep banks. Towing vehicles out is a horrendous hassle, and junker cars have been known to spend winters in ditches until spring thaws make them more retrievable.

I say that so you understand the situation we were in, the reason Gustav started screaming and my heartbeat lost its rhythm.

I stumbled toward the ditch. Mace beat me there, then we both hovered where the collapsed snowdrift showed the true edge. Gus had broken through the ice at the bottom. His fur was now an impediment, weighed down by freezing water. He paddled frantically, trying to claw his way up the icy incline, slipping off the slope each time.

I couldn't reach Gus. Anxious Mace gave me an ineffable look of sadness as I unsnapped his leash. Something about his expression made me think he was saying farewell to Gus, that he didn't see a way out for him.

Fashioning the leash into a lasso, I threw it at Gus repeatedly, attempting to hook it around his body. One paw went through the loop, then slipped out. The loop fell over his head but didn't tighten before his thrashing threw it off.

I was crying when I threw the leash the last time. Somehow, it landed over his head again, then his flailing put one leg partway through the makeshift lasso. It was enough. I pulled, the noose tightened around his neck and leg, and I hauled my drenched boy up to me.

The trip back is a blur. I called a family member, but I don't remember who was home and came to pick us up. I know Mace for once stayed close, worry etched into every movement.

Panic-born adrenaline had given me strength to drag my large dog to safety and make it to the road in record time. The aftereffects made my hands shake as I towel-and-blow dried Gus at home, wrapped him in blankets, and put him in my bed.

But he didn't sicken. He was fine. Gustav is nearly 11 years old, living with me in Florida now, and going strong. That wintry disaster 9 years ago may have shortened my lifespan though!