The snow came in Monday night; Tuesday morning Santa Feans woke to a blanket of white on brown adobe – Christmas card perfection.
Once at the shelter, it was too cold to have any one dog outside for very long, so I took as many as I could out for short, spirited romps. Some seemed not to notice the powdery new environment, or if they did, were perfectly comfortable from the get-go. Others trod timidly, not quite sure what to make of it.
The five-month-old Shepherd mix fell into the latter group. His first steps were tentative, his muzzle ringed with white after leaning in to sniff this strange new matter. After a few moments though, it clicked.
He dashed around the enclosed area, skipping and skidding like a kid with new snow boots. He found a big icy clump amid the fluff, grabbed it by the teeth and instinctively shook it, probably expecting it to struggle rather than simply melt. He looked at me and seemed to say, Where have you been hiding this stuff?
I’m not what you’d call a “cold-weather person.” I’ll always choose heat and humidity over blizzard and wind. But I could watch snow puppies play all day.