The art of winter walking

This is me, waiting for my walk. As you can see I take this very seriously. No horsing around.

I love walking in the snow, so much so I can hardly just walk. I have to run, scamper, pull left and right, dodge and leap, all the while sniffing the delicious smells left by others and listening for the little creepings of little creatures under the snow.

Watching me go down the street with my Person is like watching an unusual dance. I run wildly ahead and she hauls back on the leash. She builds up a head of steam and passes me just as I slam on the breaks to sniff an interesting smell. She lurches forward at the end of the leash. At that moment I am a particularly well grounded little red dog with my four legs splayed and my center of gravity low. And at that moment my Person, who is rather too tall, usually has one foot off the ground and a look of surprise on her face. Then I leap forward and we begin again.

Sometimes she thinks it is funny and sometimes not. Low muttering accompanies the latter and about then my name changes from "Bug" to "Finnegan!" (How would you like it if your name meant something like "You are very bad!")

At this point is is usually a good idea for me to stick my entire head into a nearby snow bank and pull it out just as fast with snow on my nose. A big sneeze from me and my Person is usually in a jolly mood again. And off we lurch on our wintry walk.