It snowed last night, so we woke up to a white world of winter. There was, in our household, one individual who was very pleased about this: the dog.
Coach, our husky, isn’t a particularly typical husky in many ways. We think some of that must be to his puppyhood prior to rescue, but for one: he’s almost always silent. He howls only when there are sirens or when we sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and the only time he comes close to barking is when something startles him (like the lady who tosses flyers onto our doorstep with a sudden thunk, which he despises).
He doesn’t run away, either. He likes to lead (that’s a pretty typical husky thing) and he will walk off-leash quite a number of steps ahead, but at a certain visual radius, he’s always turning to check.
You still there?
“You’re good, buddy.”
Then he’s off again.
When it snows, Coach is so recharged it’s insane. He’s eight-going-on-nine, and yet today he was dashing around in the snow like a puppy seeing it for the first time. He runs massive circles around me, then runs as fast as he can further down the forest path, only to hit that radius that makes him check in with me and turn around and come racing right back at full speed so he can skid to a halt at my feet long enough for a head-rub and he’s off again.
The sheer joy that dog has in the snow is single-handedly responsible for any of my own pleasure in Winter. Prior to Coach, my husband and I basically hibernated, bemoaning any and all necessary trips outside in the winter. But now, seeing the way the dog stares out the window at the snow and wags his tail he moment he realizes we’re finally going out into it?
It’s almost enough to make you love a Canadian winter.