Three nights ago, when the temperature dropped well below zero and the wind chill made the comfort level even more brutal, our eleven-year-old dog chose to stay outside curled up beneath the artificial shelter of the overhanging bay window. When I stepped out to coax him indoors, he only lifted his massive head slightly and resumed the tight curl. At eleven years old his hips are in a perpetual state of seeming frozen up and getting up from his mostly prone position is a slow laborious effort.
He resembles a beautiful blend of large northern sled dog and wolf. His name, Taiga, speaks of the land of the little sticks where the sub-arctic boreal forest thins and merges with the tundra.
He is an excellent example of the biological axiom known as Bergmans Rule. The rule asserts that within a particular species, the body mass increases with the latitude and colder climate. It is easier for a larger animal to keep from freezing in cold climates.
Another good example of the rule is illustrated in the whitetail deer. The Midwest and southern Canada are known for their hefty whitetail deer while the whitetails found in Mexico are slight and smaller animals.
This morning I relished the quiet time that a bright winter day can bring by simply fixing my gaze on the resting old dog. He lifted his head and I watched each of his exhaled breaths vaporize in a wispy plume. Normally watching his steamy breathing would not cause concern in February, but this time I my stare wore the look of incredulity and I felt a tinge of alarm. Taiga was laying in our dining room not outside!
After a moment of stunned silence, I realized I was witnessing an excellent physics lesson. Hot air rises. Heat given off a warmed earth creates thermals, those unseen swirling currents of air that are often used by hawks and other birds to help them migrate effortlessly.
The small snarl of cobwebs tucked in the corner between the ceiling and the wall were dancing in the flow of hot air coming off the stove. I got up, pulled up a chair and stood on the chair putting my head closer to the ceiling. It was much warmer here.
I have learned to watch Taiga move around the house during the cold weather. His thick pelage is such an efficient insulator that he literally moves himself seeking the most comfortable place to sleep.
In this case he had curled near the glass door that leads out to our small deck. Laying close to the floor, in close proximity to a cool surface and he had found a microclimate that betrayed his breathing.
I simply pulled my chair closer to the woodstove, warmed up my cup of coffee with another pour and marveled at the practice of adaptation.