There are no finer words than "Snow Day" and this holds especially true for Duncan, who loves the stuff as much as I love just about everything else. It started last night and has been coming down in thick, heavy tufts ever since. Duncan was awake before anyone else––even fat Olive, who starts demanding breakfast early––poking his head through the blinds to peek out the window then stepping around the side of the bed to touch his nose to mine in an effort to wake me up. And when that didn't work he was back at the blinds, his head disrupting them like a soft clamor of bells. Finally he succeeded to rouse me and we were off.
It's slow going when the snow reaches over your boots and past your dog's shoulders, but he is tireless and stops often to urge me on, barking softly while his tail swats angel wing imprints behind him. And then as soon as I've caught up he's off again, forcing me to follow his erratic trail, around trees, through shrubs, then down into deep drifts. But this is what he loves and because I love him more I follow, a smile on my face as I go.
When we're inside, after a nice foot-rinse in the tub, he stands on the patio, his head hanging between the bars, and looks down on the world, filling and rising up below us, the ground seeming closer and closer each hour. And he watches me, turning his head over his shoulder every now and then as though to ask, "More?"
More? I wonder. I appreciate not going in to the office today but do we really need more?