I never put much stock in the prognostications of ground dwelling rodents in relation to their shadow casting, but I have been proven oh so very wrong.
After having 60 degree weather at the start of the week last night Mr. Phil took it upon himself to thunder over a foot of the white stuff all across the midwest/heartland/middle o' nowhere/Narnia over night.
As you can about guess the dog is ecstatic, acting like a puppy who is driving us all mad as we fight to the death through this mentally offsetting cabin fever.
Which can be evidenced in the two pictures I proceeded to take with my props to keep myself from strangling Jack Nicholson in the basement.
But there's a threat of more snow coming so I don't know if we'll all make it out alive *hefts up axe*