We're the only ones on the icy hill and she yells "wahoooo!" as our sled speeds over the bumpy snow, further into the unbroken surface than any of the other tracks, before tipping us lazily onto the frozen ground. She calls the hazy red sky “an ocean of sun” and finds the pure white half moon behind cloud wisps. Our eyes are fixed on the heavens and just a second later, they're scanning the earth for tracks.
We find two sizes of dog prints. One small enough for us to say with confidence, "A dog's been here." And the other so strangely large that we pretend they're bear prints and my eyes skim the thin woods around us just to make sure no massive blobs of black are bumbling about. Just to make sure these truly are the footprints of a neighborly Saint Bernard.
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