Bay Breeze Gets Eighteen Inches

by Admiral Biscuit

Chapter 1: of Snow

Bay Breeze Gets Eighteen Inches of Snow
Admiral Biscuit

The affected counties will see significant snowfalls starting in the evening, with up to two feet of accumulation. Hazardous driving conditions are expected beginning Monday night and throughout the Tuesday morning commute.

Bay grinned as I shut off the radio. “Snow!”

“It’s just a forecast,” I cautioned. “You know how reliable weather forecasters are.”

“Yeah.” She snorted. “So will they be wrong again?”

“I . . . don’t know.” I didn’t want to get her hopes up. “Sometimes the weather forecasters like to give the worst case, so that people are prepared. ‘Up to two feet’ might be a worst-possible case, it might not even be a foot.”

“That’s no fun.” Bay stuck out her tongue. “How are you supposed to have fun with anything less than a foot?”

“Isn’t always about fun,” I told her.

“Well, it should be.” She looked out the front window in the hopes of seeing fat flakes drifting down, but there was nothing.

I ran a hand through her mane. “A watched cloud never snows.”

She stuck her tongue out at me.


As a kid, I’d loved snow, and the more the better. As I grew old enough to hold a snow shovel and then a job, it got less appealing. No longer was it a fun toy that fell from the heavens, it was a chore to deal with. A couple inches to make everything look wintery, and maybe a light dusting every now and then to keep it looking fresh would be the perfect winter for me. Kids got snow days when there was enough on the ground, but I didn’t, not any more. Unless the state actually forbade travel, there was no excuse for not making it to work.

Bay and I took one last look through the window before going to bed. Small flakes, blowing about in the wind. It didn’t look like it would amount to anything, and I could tell by the slump of her shoulders that she thought the same.

While it might have been lacking in snow outside, there was no denying the chill. The furnace in the house was struggling to keep up, and once again I was disappointed in the illusion that the bed would be warm.

Even if the bed wasn’t, Bay was. She burrowed her head under my chin and I wrapped an arm over her back and my feet were still cold and the promised snowstorm hadn’t yet materialized but I was cuddling a pony and all was right with the world.


The alarm beeped too early, as it always did. I smashed the snooze button before it could wake Bay Breeze, tucked my head against her mane, and ran a finger down her belly. Her tail slapped against my leg and she snorted in her sleep, and I debated if I should get up when the snooze expired, or wait for the third alarm.

I could see a pile of snow on the bottom of the window, maybe three or four inches, not a lot, all things considered. Certainly less than they’d promised. Driving conditions would be hazardous, but only because most drivers were idiots. I’d have to brush the car off, so maybe I’d get up next time the alarm went off, that would be plenty of time.


I have to get up, I reminded myself as I slapped the snooze button again. Bay shifted around and then I felt her back arch as she stretched. She was awake.

It was warm and comfortable under the covers and I reluctantly pushed them off. Bay turned her head and nuzzled my neck, then she was first out of bed, eagerly pressing her muzzle against the cold glass.

I followed her, and for a moment it didn’t look like much. The snowpile on the porch railing wasn’t that high.

“It snowed!”

And then I realized that I could see the back of the chair but not the seat, and the forecasters had been right, we’d gotten over a foot of snow.

“Yup.” That was all I could muster as I started my morning routine. Make coffee, bathroom, and I was already thinking about how soon I wanted to start the car, and if I’d have to shovel it out. I should have set the alarm early; there might not be enough time.

She was at my side as I opened the door, already dressed in her snow boots, and I couldn’t help but notice how high the snow had drifted against the door before she was off like a puppy into the fresh, unmarked snowscape.

Being an adult meant responsibilities, meant showing up to work even if there were eighteen inches of snow on the ground, and it was easy to forget all those as I watched her frolic joyfully around the yard, leaping into drifts, burrowing into the snowfall and then shaking it off her coat. She made one lap of the yard before I joined her.

Her joy was infectious; it wasn’t long before I’d nearly forgotten about adult responsibilities entirely and fallen back to what I knew as a kid; it wasn’t long before I was scooping up a handful of snow and molding it in response to her dastardly snowball attack.

At the back of my mind, I knew I ought to be getting ready for work, and yet here I was living in the moment with no care for the future.

Then the alarm on my cell phone went off, the fallback in case the power went out and my alarm clock failed.

Bay paused, mid-romp, as I dragged the phone out of my pocket and silenced it.

Twenty minutes before I had to leave. Realistically, on a day like this, less. I brushed my arm against the car to dislodge some of the snow and opened the door, reached in and got the snowbrush out, then stuck the key in the ignition. Verified that the defroster was on full heat, full blast, started it up.

And died a little inside.

I brushed off the windshield and then the hood. Bay landed on the trunk and used her wing to clear the rear window, and the two of us went back inside. The carafe was nearly full, the coffee maker burbling its last. I wouldn’t have time for a shower but that was okay, a day like today nobody would notice. Brush my hair into order, a quick shave, an extra splash of aftershave and I’d be good.

I’d be a responsible adult. I’d be at work listening to co-workers complain about their commute, the hateful snow. . . .

Bay’s looking at me as I pull my cell phone from my pocket and dial.

Graphic detail is the best way to describe an illness, even a feigned one. Especially a feigned one; the boss might be imagining how I’m cradling the porcelain goddess as I shut off the car, who knows? Who cares?

Responsible adults don’t have snow days. The plow trucks are out and I have a shovel, I can clear my driveway enough to commute to work.


They’ll get along fine without me, and I push lingering guilty thoughts aside. There’s eighteen inches of snow that Bay wants to play with, and truth be told, I do too.

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