Twelve below this night. And me with only one dog.
I know some of you guys don't believe us when we talk about bigass continental highs, huge, cold, sluggish ones. Almost Jack London cold; Vilhjalmur Stefansson cold.
Take a look at the weather map, dammit. See the triangle with its point down in the Texas malarial zones? Even there around Houston shivering white guys are hiring mules named Pedro to sneak them across the border and on down to Coatzacoalcos.
Anyway, the cold high spreads up and out. By the time it hits my sorry latitude it spans Flyover from the Cascades to the Soo Locks and plops its butt down for a nice, long visit.
Oh sure, it goes up into Canada too, but screw those guys. Buncha foreigners. Let 'em freeze from their heads right down to their long-gun registry. What's Canada ever done for us?
Okay. I meant to say what's Canada done for us lately?