Temperatures

Today is cleaning day. I am on the patio while Maria, the cleaning lady, and her sister do floors, counter tops, furniture and etc. Because of the covids in Maria’s family and my wife’s and my positive tests, cleaning the last month has been somewhat erratic.

The temperature is 57 American degrees as I write at 1045 Eastern time. Fifty-seven is not a bad temperature. I have on compression socks and thick wool socks, sweat pants, a Star Wars © t-shirt and a flannel hoodie. In Florida.

The coldest day I have ever seen was in December 1965. I was a dog handler in Korea. The Armed Forces Radio Network morning DJ announced the temperature this way: “It is 20 f***ng degrees below zero.” You know what you can do on a day that cold? Nothing. Unless you are a soldier or someone whose job calls for outside work. Even then, farmers feeding livestock or milking cows, truck drivers in warm trucks, police who maybe hear a report of a minor crime and decide, “I ain’t taking that one.” Or maybe the police answers the call just so he can bust somebody for being incredibly stupid. “You did this when it’s twenty f***ing degrees below zero? Shut up and put your hands behind your back.” Miranda warning didn’t come around until 1966, so police before that could say just about anything to arrestees or potential arrestees.

I had not worked the night of the “twenty f***ing degrees below zero” morning. Happy not to have. Sentry Dog Platoon lived in a metal Quanset hooch that was heated by a diesel-burning stove with a drip system. On cold nights, and I mean cold, the stove would roar when the drip was increased.

I was on duty the only night of snow, the midnight-whenever shift. Dog posts were covered from just before dark until just after daylight, two shifts. In the winter, that close to Siberia, dark came early and lasted late. The night it snowed was a still dark. Snow covering everything made the countryside look picturesque.

When daylight arrived, the guard truck did not. I remained on my post for more than an hour after daylight. General Order Number Two: I will quit my post only when properly relieved. Or, maybe that is Number One. After 57 years…

After deciding no one was coming to get me and my dog, I headed off toward the dog kennels, maybe a mile and two hill climbs away. It was a nice walk. I kept to the paved streets. Duke, my dog, acted as though we were on a little jaunt. Other soldiers kept their distance. That was fine with me. People see an Army dog trained to bite and do damage, they should keep distance and not make any sudden moves or loud noises.

Duke and I got to the kennels. I put him in his house, dumped the chunk of ice from his water bowl, filled it with water and suggested he get a drink while the water was in a liquid state. Feeding time would come later. The dogs’ houses had straw, so the dogs had some insulation other than fur. I went down the hill, straight to the mess hall. Breakfast was about over, but cooks understood I was just coming off guard. Hot coffee and an Army breakfast. Takes off the chill.