Siggy loves the snow. On our morning walks he bounds out to the limits of his leash, snapping at the ground, biting mouthfuls of the powder, ultimately coming up for air with a dusting of white on his worn-leather nose, until it’s hard to tell where dog ends and snow begins.
I never expected Siggy to love the snow so much. Bred in Georgia, he didn’t see snow until we moved to Germany shortly before his fourth birthday. But love it he does, his normally neurotic personality melting into playfulness and anticipation as the ground slowly turns white. Snow days are the best days for him, and he can barely contain himself as he waits by the door for me to pull on snow boots and other winter gear. “Come on, Mom!” he seems to whine, unable to sit still long enough for me to put on the layers. Then we are out into a winter wonderland, our footsteps crunching around the lake as he immerses himself in a world of crisp, cold smells and sounds – the ice, the ducks in the pond, the gulls overhead – and for a moment I can appreciate his joy. Continue reading