"So, Tam," you ask, "what's the weather like up there in New Hamster?"
Well, I'm glad you asked. It's cold. Frickin' cold. A good ten degrees colder than it is back in the flatlands to the west.
Inside, it's not bad. The pellet stove does a surprisingly good job of keeping things reasonably temperate.
The dachshunds, of course, have all burrowed under the blankets on the couch. But then, burrowing is what they do; it's their raison d'être, however you say that in Jerry. A dachshund could burrow between a sheet of paper and the floor; it's why they're all long and pointy and dirtodynamic.