I am convinced there is nothing more perfect than Duncan's face when he plays in the snow after rooting around under the draped bushes for the rabbits which have taken to nesting there. He is a devil and a charmer, and the most beautiful angel gliding over the ice tonight, his wonder and curiosity without limits. He is diligent and quiet in his hunt, but his tail, a second voice, a thing almost separate from himself, gives him away every time. It is all I can to step back and watch and not fling myself down next to him with a satisfying crunch into the brittle snow, throw my arms around his beautiful, warm shoulders and hug him until we both burst. And when I finally did, he did not mind. On a day like today, when I felt the bitters of winter and the holidays setting in, he welcomed it. He could not understand how I could be anything but jubilant in the snow, but he did not fault me for it. He leaned in to me, swiped my cheek once with his tongue, did a quick dance with his two front paws then spun quickly, spraying me with cold powder before leaping away and throwing himself head first into the night.