Buddhawg and I have returned from a wildly windy walk on our favorite road. The mound of snow he has been routinely investigating has revealed itself to be a ribcage, spine and hip bones. They emerge from the tired ice, prong by shaft. Something has been working on the frozen tissues. Bu would like to join in, but already knows he’s under close scrutiny for any attempts to place his fuzzy muzzle closer than whiffing range. He games around and I give chase, to his delight. I pinch his butt. He speeds away, tail tucked, then dives into a turning spin to double back, ears flapping like a nun’s habit in wind. But his eyes are rabbit, round and soulful; his spirit is monkey-mischievous and smart; his heart is sweet and thumping with the life force of a romp in the winter world.
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