He liked the snow, he had decided. Zeek bolted now through the flurry, curly tail a-wag, barking and jumping at puffy snowflakes. They melted on his tongue, and he considered each a victory in the imaginary battle he waged against the storm. Snowshoe paws kept him light across the drifts, and though it was cold, his thick fur made that little impediment, especially with all the running amok!

His chase carried him down the mountain's edge, where eventually the ground grew steep enough to roll — and Zeek tumbled down, laughing the whole way until his game landed him, covered in snow, at the mouth of an unfamiliar den.