Snow, ice lead to invasion of polar critters

We have not only been invaded by polar weather -- we've been invaded by polar critters! There's nothing like a good snow and ice storm to turn everyone into Inuits (That's Eskimos for those of you not on the PC mailing list).

On Monday morning, out walking the clown dog Emmett, the first thing I saw was a polar bear.

I am not kidding.

Okay, I am kidding.

But the big, ice-white Great Pyrenees who was riding in the bed for his master's truck, paws up on the cab, grinning from here to eternity, looked like a polar bear to me -- and to Emmett, who promptly dove under the shrubbery and decorated the snow.

I saw a flock of penguins waddling into the grocery store, swaying back and forth, their bodies so wrapped up in coats, boots, scarves and insurance deductible payments that they had no real shape -- they were just a parade of drab Russian nesting dolls.

Moose sighting

Then there was the moose that lurched out of the snowstorm Friday in front of my van as I was creeping from Shelbyville to Tullahoma at 15 miles per hour. My husband doesn't think we have moose here, but then we don't usually have 4-inch snows, either.

I will admit, the antlers were missing, it only had one leg, and its head bore a striking resemblance to a mailbox -- but when you're driving in white-out conditions, everything looks like a moose.

There was a walrus in the driveway, too. That's what my kids told me as I went inside after falling down and flopping a few times. I don't remember seeing a walrus. It must have been behind me.

I don't know if the Arctic or Antarctic have starlings -- if they don't they are the only places in the world safe from the ragged black mob. On Friday afternoon, we had polar starlings. They were black and brown as they zoomed through the trees, zeroing in on the seeds and bread crumbs we'd scattered over the snow. Once they hit the powder, though, before the freezing rain sealed it all off, they were decorated in their own snowy coats.

Polar chicken

I even saw a polar chicken. With paws. I was standing at the door, admiring the sunlight on the iced-over snow wasteland that was my front yard, shattering into tiny jewels of color, when Kismet took advantage of the situation. He darted out between my ankles and headed for the bushes beside the porch. Kiz has only been out of the house once since we got him a year ago, not counting the vet trips in the cat carrier. The last time, it was spring and green and warm.

This was not that same world.

Kiz the CheezWhiz for Brains slid to a stop at the first step down and stared at the white weirdness around him. Every hair stood up in slow motion and he froze, one paw lifted.

It didn't take much more than an opened door -- and an opened can of cat food -- to convince him that Inside was a much better option than Outside. Presto-chango, one polar chicken turned into one cool cat.

The scariest of the arctic invaders was the one who burst through our door late Friday afternoon. White and shaggy, the Abominable Snowman raised his arms and roared. I wasn't sure what the fearsome yeti wanted as he stomped around, shedding bits of his frozen hide onto my hardwood floor.

Once we unwrapped the scarf, removed the toboggan, peeled off the jacket, sweatshirt, sweater, shirt, undershirt and gloves and found Buzz underneath, I had a pretty good idea.

"Hot-t-t-t ch-ch-chocolate ...."