I  felt like sitting around and drinking coffee, but fresh snow meant it was a Cooper kind of a  day.

So, after a protracted exchange of glances, we set off in the Sunday snow. He’d had his breakfast. Mine apparently could wait.

Not quite like it was in the old days, with Cooper, newly freed from an animal shelter cage, bounding down the arroyo, picture of pure joy. But we made our rounds, one guy’s nose daubed with snow, paws full of ice. We paused at the same time, coming back up the hill, on the way home. Cooper acted like he was surveying the horizon, but I think he too was taking a blow.

We are rigid in our routines but ultimately yield. Today he leaves me wondering whether it would have been enough to take in the view, shading up and shepherding the herd.

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