Imagine a dog about the size of a German shepherd with Basset hound paws.
That’s a pretty good physical description of my dog, and according to some folks, a good guess at his parentage.
The point is, however, that nature has combined to create, in my dog, the perfect snow walking animal. Long of leg, he easily lopes over drifts and mounds. And wide, meaty webbed-paws give him uncanny traction on snow and ice.
So we walk, me cursing and slipping on the city’s hazardous sidewalks and streets and him loping along like a damn greyhound.
And every few dozen steps or so, he looks back at me, puzzled that I’m so slow.