By Al Batt, Tales From Exit 22

Sancho was a Chihuahua that I purchased in Otisco, Minn. He was a tiny puppy when I bought him. I looked at Sancho and his littermates under a microscope before picking the puppy of my choice. I put him in my coat pocket and took him home.

Sancho was named after Sancho Panza from the novel, Don Quixote. Sancho thought he was half-pitbull and half-Rottweiller. He believed he was a fierce warrior, but everything else knew that he was a Chihuahua. Chickens beat him up.

Sancho was not built for Minnesota winters&8212;not even the wussy ones. He was as diminutive as a winter was gargantuan.

Sancho was my buddy and insisted on following me everywhere. This included outdoors in January. He would begin these expeditions into the winter wonderland with a sprightly walk and eyes filled with hope. His stroll would end with canine freeze-up. His four paws would be held off the frozen turf, with his belly flattened against the ground–a beached Chihuahua.

I would pick Sancho up and carry the chilled Chihuahua

into the house. I threatened to equip him with snow tires.

Sancho was a quick thaw. Once defrosted, he was ready to abandon his climate-controlled life to explore the tundra once more. Bad experiences and painful memories had no impact on Sancho&8217;s life. He wanted no regrets.

It was 15 degrees below zero as I sat down to write this.

I could hear my heating bill going up.

What better time to write about global warming.

William Shakespeare wrote, &8220;Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind as man&8217;s ingratitude.&8221;

Now Shakespeare didn&8217;t live in Minnesota, so he didn&8217;t experience the unkind winters we have, but he lived before central heating, thermal underwear, battery-powered socks and global warming, so I will try to take the Bard of Avon&8217;s words to heart and appreciate all weather&8212;good or bad. I&8217;m just happy to see it.

We are in the clutches of a long-term warming trend. Federal climate officials have said that 2006 was the warmest year ever recorded in the United States. Is the global warming caused by carbon dioxide created by a natural cycle, El Nino, automobiles, bovine flatulence, Al Gore, The Weather Channel or some guy named Doppler? That&8217;s a matter for debate.

I grew up in Minnesota when Jack Frost regularly nipped at noses and icicles hung from bathtubs. We&8217;d wear out an ice scraper in less than a week. My father would tell me stories of heating a brick, wrapping it in a towel and putting it at the end of the bed to keep his feet warm. Mark Twain commented on our winters when he said, &8220;If the thermometer had been an inch longer, we&8217;d have frozen to death.&8221;

When I was growing up, nice winters were rumors. Long underwear was worn often and long. We don&8217;t have winters like we used to in the cold old days. The County has passed an ordinance against bad winters. The winter temperatures change so quickly now, that the most common winter-related injury is whiplash.

When I was between grass and hay, I knew folks who spent their winters in such exotic locales as Florida, Arizona and Texas. My family never set anything more than a wish in any of those states. We put up with the weather. We stayed home and listened to our tribal elders say things like, &8220;You call this cold. Let me tell you about cold. In 1936, it was so cold, that if we said something in January, we had to wait until the words thawed out in May before we could hear them.&8221;

I&8217;d hear stories from the snowbirds who deserted Minnesota for warmer climes. They regaled me with the delights to be found in escaping harsh winter conditions. They told incredible tales of sweating instead of shivering during a winter. They laughed a frostbite-free laugh

at the cold and snow. They could afford to. They were far away. I wondered how it would feel not to have to wear long johns.

I hate to admit it, but I wished for warmer winters. I wished hard.

I suspect that I was not the only Minnesotan wishing for warmer weather.

I&8217;m sorry now. I was young. I didn&8217;t know what I was doing.

I grew up and became the owner of a Chihuahua that was prone to freeze-up. I wished for warm winters on my dog&8217;s behalf.

I wished for warmer winters for years. I wished in global warming.

It&8217;s my fault. Blame me.

Sancho has shuffled off this mortal coil after 16 comfortable canine years. That&8217;s 112 years for you and me.

I&8217;m going to stop wishing for warm winters.

Bundle up.

Hartland resident Al Batt&8217;s columns appear every Sunday and Wednesday.