Nobody can do it like Lileks:
It is cold as Mars’ Arse out there. I’m already tired of it. Not a good sign; it’s like a stitch in your side sixteen yards into a marathon. The fussy idiot wind doesn’t help any either, poking its nose into everything. The dog wants to go out; the dog goes out, rethinks the wisdom of the effort, then barks to be readmitted. A few minutes later he recalls why he wanted to go out, and he walks over to the door and paws the frame once. The door is opened, and a hand is put on his hindquarters to expedite his passage. Once outside, his nose hurts, and he announces a desire for the comforts of civilization. I wonder if there’s anything to be smelled at all when it’s this cold. I wonder if dogs lean into the wind, nostrils wide, and think: I’m blind.
Lileks' dog is named Jasper, and I have to admit that at times I've taken to telling Brave Sir Hogarth that "he's being a real Jasper" whe he pulls stunts like that. To be fair to Jasper, though, he lives in frikkin' Minnesota, where they know cold like Columbus knows fast food.