I’ve been giving some serious thought to our fellow Austinites who disappear as soon as the frigid weather threatens. They’re labeled Snow Birds. Harumph! I’m thinking they’re more like Snow Chickens!

And just what do those far southern places like Arizona and Florida have to offer, anyway? I’m telling you they’re not a fair trade for what we have right here at home. As a matter of fact, here are some of the things the Snow Chickens are missing …

Flat head hair from November to April. Or if it’s not a whole head issue, then at least a deep ridge in the middle of the skull going from ear to ear, a sure indicator of a hardened ear muff wearer.

Enough sand, dirt and gravel on your garage floor to easily start a flower garden next spring.

A gray tinge to the lower half of every single one of your winter coats (in particular your black ones) which aligns perfectly with the height of your back bumper and trunk. These would be the car parts you try to avoid, but continually brush against while wearing your once-upon-a-time all-black coat.

The heating bill.

The annoying ingrained habitual habit of glancing through the window at your outdoor thermometer … if you can still see it through the thick ice slick covering its face. And if you can see it, just what the heck are you going to do about it, anyway.

A dry floor at both the front and back doors.

The line-up of blue liquid anti-freeze bottles taking up precious space in your garage. These sit next to the bags of ice melt pellets, snow shovels and ice choppers which are also taking up precious space in your garage.

A heating pad (size XL) that rests upon your favorite chair. There it lies like a best friend, always plugged in and punched to “high,” ready and waiting to soothe your over-shoveled back muscles … or your always chilly bum.

Your calendar marked with trips to Minneapolis with the note …. “check the weather first” beside them.

The behemoth of a snow blower that demands as much room in your small garage as a Smart Car and makes your garage smell like a leaking gas pump.

Lots of socks. Worn so that no foot skin dares to touch a single one of your cold floors.

The sight of the mailman at your front door holding a package that is too big for the mail box. You are overjoyed to see him because this negates your having to put on your coat, your hat, your scarf, your mittens, your boots and trudge down the driveway to your mailbox yourself. (You find that you are ordering more large items — all of them online — during the winter than you would normally do during the summer.)

The occasional chance meeting of your next door neighbors, folks you have not seen since Halloween. They look older. Tired. Sun starved. When you finally meet during the winter of 2016-2017 (about April) and they have at last unswaddled themselves from their down-filled outfits, their waists seem suspiciously plumper. You wonder about your own. Only one person knows how this has happened. It’s not the Shadow. It is your recycling man. He knows for it is he who has emptied your “plastics” bin for the last six months; the very bin that has been regularly filled to the brim with tongue-licked-clean Blue Bunny containers. (Hint: switch service to Thompson’s Waste Removal at once! Their tight-lipped employees are sworn to an oath of secrecy.)

The tips of nine of your fingers have cracks the size of Denali crevasses. You go to bed each night praying that none of your bubba buddies know you are wearing your wife’s white knit gloves filled with her hand cream. You look like Mickey Mouse. But even this doesn’t help. You’re out of luck because Runnings has run out of Udder Cream.

There are messy, unaligned shovel marks on your roof. This is not the work of Santa, but rather of you who has fervently risked your life to save your rain gutters. It hasn’t worked and the gutters have a sag to them even more pronounced than the busts of many of my friends.

If you are a dog owner, you are by now greatly in need of Doggie Doo services. This is particularly serious when your beloved pets have chosen to use your shoveled-off front side walk … the one leading up to your formal front door. You know that one. It’s the one your guests use. This has happened because of just what I said — it’s shoveled off! And you, dummy you, shoveled it off and expected your dog to mountain climb a snow bank rather than use a ground level, snow free latrine?

You have forgotten the color, smell and texture of grass.

The hope of looking splendid in next summer’s shorts appears dim. Your leg skin is now the color of tapioca … with lumps.

You walk funny. Icy roads are to blame. This is not a big issue. The whole danged town walks funny.

Long run-on sentences containing subject, verb and object are a thing of the past. When you meet someone outdoors, you speak in fast, clipped-off sentences that get you out of the cold faster. You hope with all your heart that none of them is your old AHS English teacher.

Tall stacks of books are now piled beside your bed and favorite chair (the one with the XL heating pad). You are saving them for the library Spring Used Book Sale. And if you’re not, I will be on your case!!

Jello recipes have been replaced with various slumgullion and goulash dishes, all passed down by various moms, grandmothers, aunts and church ladies. They comfort you when the snow flies. Indeed, you are so comforted, you have forgotten how to spell Jello. It feels foreign, even alien.

The bird feeders are running low. This means a frigid refilling done by you. But you rationalize the thought of this agony by saying that the neighbor’s feeders are probably full and the birds can go there. You post arrow signs on your window giving the sparrows directions to next door.

The mail arrives with your weenie friend’s’ postcard from some sun-soaked state. You immediately throw it away (in the bin next to the empty ice cream containers) without reading a single word. Why should you torture yourself by doing so? Besides, a melting icicle has dripped on the card now making it illegible. Was it your fault you held it under the eaves?

You go into a deep funk over the card. It makes you green with envy. Green is not your color. You like your pale tapioca look. From now on, you will throw out all of your mail in case it might contain a card from Florida.

But, hold on here. What about those things which the Winter Weenies are missing out on? They don’t see the glory of a crimson cardinal against a background of white. They never look out upon their manicured lawns and see a sea of sparkling diamond dust. Nor do they ever catch the sight of every single tree coated in a beautiful, breathtaking, hauntingly hoary frost which rises out of a snow covered world.

In my book, doesn’t gathering around a cozy fireplace beat gathering around an air conditioner any day? Especially when that gathering is your friends and they’re all eating your great aunts’ favorite goulash recipe. Between refills, you tell your loved ones, “Hang in there. Spring is only 75 days away.”