The Siberian winter would have been beautiful if it hadn't been for the two or three weeks of fierce cold weather, which from the beginning of the winter you begin to expect with hope: "Maybe this year they won't come". But they come. And this winter the forecasters of the week began to promise some abnormal frosts for forty. And again, I wanted to believe that the forecast would be adjusted in a favorable way. And it was, indeed, correcting, but only in the opposite direction, so we began to worry seriously: how will we survive this cold weather with our dog?
Smart people from the Internet pages advised us to keep the street dog on the veranda on particularly cold days, where it would not be as hot as it could be in the house, and not as cold as on the street. It was great advice, and Igor, for example, did so with his little one, but we did not have a veranda, and although Zannina's box was decorated with thermal insulation boards inside, we feverishly began to insulate it even more.
First, we added hay to the booth so that the dog could bury himself in it if necessary. Secondly, we installed a transparent curtain of five removable PVC curtains at the entrance, which, according to the manufacturer's promise, should not be tanned in the cold. The curtain was tightly attached to the entrance and promised to keep the booth warm, without our Zanochka having to sit in the dark. This ruse cost us a penny, but we did not regret it: we liked the veil very much.
Zanochka liked it too, especially when she tried it on her tooth. We didn't have time to notice that one of the stripes was torn. "Oh, you idiot! Why are you chewing on your door? - I cried when I saw a pitiful tear that one of the strips had turned into, so new and so beautiful recently. "You made me a good toy, mistress! - Zanna was smiling back at me. It's a good thing the veil was wide: four lanes were still good at closing the entrance, and I took them off quickly before the frost came, hoping my dog wouldn't have time for toys in minus 40.
Third, we bought mutton ribs after reading that it is recommended to give the dog lamb in the cold. And finally, fourthly, we moved a huge and almost impossible box right under our window so that we could see at night, without going outside, whether the "door" was tightly closing the entrance.
And then came the night, which was supposed to bring a terrible cold. In the evening, having fed Suzanne enough, I took off her chain so that the poor girl could run and warm up if necessary. I also read about it on the Internet. Finally, I put the remaining four lanes in place, urging my mind not to touch them, stuffed it in a box and tightly slid the plastic curtains. The frost was getting worse, and my dog was obediently seated in a booth behind a tightly closed, transparent door.
I didn't sleep well. I got up a few times overnight, looked out the window, everything was fine, the booth entrance was tightly closed, and Zanna wouldn't go out. The alarm clock rang early this morning: I started it for six hours to warm up my freezing dog with hot food as soon as possible. I wanted to sleep brutally. I looked at the street thermometer outside the window and annual: the window was 45 degrees cold. It was colder than expected. My dream was like a handful.
Very quickly I warmed up the dog food, dressed up quickly, and decided to feed Zanna, I'd take her home for an hour or two to warm up. But on the way to saving the poor girl, there was an obstacle in the form of a frozen lock: the door did not open. I pushed my wife, and while he was heating the door with a normal hairdryer, I was wrestling with my hands and imagining a terrible picture: the shaking, unhappy Zannochka, frozen to such an extent that she was unable to crawl out of the booth. Because despite all the fuss around the door, the dog didn't stick out of the booth.
Finally, the door opened. With a hot bowl in my hands, from which I immediately fell down the steam, without noticing the cold, trying to defuse the alarm, I looked into the inside of the box. Sleepily stretching out, my dog came out to me: warm from sleep, cheerful, not shivering at all. Quickly emptying the bowl, she glanced at me, heading towards the road: "Shall we go for a walk, mistress?
Of course, I didn't go for a walk. The frosty air burned my face, and I rushed to a warm house, completely calm for my frost-resistant dog. Despite my dog's frost-resistance, I still fed him very early in the morning, when the morning hours were the coldest. All this time, I was practically in the army: I jumped up, dressed instantly, ran!
And all the days of cold weather Zannochka was rescued by the curtain as well, though a little bit froze. Our reasonable dog not only didn't touch his door but also obediently climbed into the booth on my command, so that I neatly closed the door for the night. Good girl!
When the cold snap came to an end, I left the curtains optimally spread so that, on the one hand, there was a good supply of air, but on the other hand, there was some protection from the wind and snow. That's where Zanna gnawed at her wonderful door, thinking she didn't need it anymore! The frost resistance test showed that we have an amazing dog: having survived such frosts, she never sneezed!