Arrrgh. Six below when I arose, a balmy minus-3 at 9:30 a.m. Woo hoo, ain’t nothin’ but a party. Word is we’re in the deep freeze for a few days at minimum, and lemme tell you, Las Cruces, Tucson and Hell are all starting to look pretty nice to me right now. Bibleburg looks not unlike the Ninth Circle of Dante’s Inferno, only with more faux Christians.
Herself has skipped the drive to Mile High in favor of working from home, and I am at liberty, with no deadlines looming. Ordinarily that would mean a bracing ride, or perhaps a run, but not everyone in Bibleburg is as conscientious as I am about shoveling walks, and my idea of a good time is not a shattered elbow, rolled ankle or cracked kneecap, an injury that befell my 83-year-old neighbor Marv, who took a digger after church yesterday and now sports an immobilizer that looks like some bit of gear out of “Iron Man.”
Turkish (a.k.a. Mighty Whitey, Big Pussy, Turkenstein, The Turkinator, et al) still wants outside, weather be damned, but he has a luxurious fur coat for warmth, claws for traction and a brain the size of a walnut. Miss Mia Sopaipilla, wiser despite her tender years, is content to stay inside.
It’s even colder in Denver, where employees of The Rocky Mountain News have launched a blog in a last-ditch attempt to save the paper from oblivion and MediaNews honcho and Denver Post publisher William Dean Singleton has asked unions at The Post and Denver Newspaper Agency to reopen their labor contracts.
Mad Blog Media 
From what I read the guy is a bonny-fide folk hero now. Dozens of lawyers have offered to defend him for nothing. If the first shoe had connected, it would have taken W’s snoot clean off, but the second one was a little high.
My pups never turn down a walk, but today they both ran outside, pizzed as fast as they could, and high-tailed it back to the safety of their fire-side bunker. You can tell by her grimace that Molly has a turtle head popping out, but she’s going to hold it until the mercury pushes up into double digits.