We walked into work Monday morning. Left the house at 6am, still dark out, snow was falling (mostly horizontal with the wind) a couple inches of it on the ground, and the temperature was around 4°. I'd rather not think what the wind-chill was.

The graph plots Sunday morning to Monday night, with midnight Sunday at the date line [it's still falling].

Zeke didn't mind it a bit.

When I was a kid I used to think girls had a special chemical which allowed them to wear dresses to school on winter days. Since then Faith has assured me, in word and action, that this just isn't true, or at least not for grown women. Dogs, on the other hand, are chock-full of this magical stuff.

When we first got Zeke I worked at home and we lived a mile up a back-woods country road. Each day we'd walk down the road to check the mail, Zeke got to go crazy on the way down and was in training on the way back (you gotta be fair). Even in the jagged frozen teeth of winter he'd splash into the unfrozen section of the stream in the hope that I'd toss his ball in.

The ball was from my juggling kit: it bounced like crazy yet sank like rock in the water. Zeke preferred not sticking his head under water to get it. He'd explore the depths with his toes (ears cocked just so) and then jab both feet at the ball in an attempt at dragging it backwards.

If he was lucky the ball popped out and not one of the ball sized rocks. If it was taking too long he'd wince for a moment, maybe bark at it, and then stick his head under water and grab the ball. In either case he'd bound up the stream banks and drop the ball next to me for another go.

No ball in the stream these days but he'll scoop up a mouth full of snow from time to time just to make his teeth sing.