My dog loved it when we had several inches of snow.  Jack is a little Jack Russel terrier mix, and after a few hours in the snow one morning I let him in.  He came bounding in with a big puppy grin, covered in mud, looking like he’d had the time of his life.

There was a big patch of snow in the yard he’d dug up, which was where he had found the mud.  And he jumped and leaped through the snow when we let him out.  He’s not a very big dog, but he’s got a lotta jump in him, so him bounding was a sight to behold.  He plowed through a few snowdrifts as big as him, knocking the snow everywhere.

I wish my camera had been charged, because there was something about his pure joy that is hard to replicate or imitate.

And then, there’s Beron.  Beron is my mother’s dog, and he’s sort of been passed around until she found a permanent residence with a good yard.  Beron is a very large dog, he’s a Treeing Walker Hound (it’s a UK breed and it’s not a popular one).  He’s a full blooded TWH, he’s what they sometimes call ‘lemon colored’ but what I always have described as tawny.  He’s my scrawny, tawny hounddog with eyes just a bit darker than his coat- and he is a beautiful, beautiful dog.  Like a Weimereiner, but golden.  He can put both front paws on the shoulder of my boyfriend, who is 6′5″ tall.

He is also the world’s biggest chickenshit.

He HATES rain, and every time I let him in after a rainfall he used to run around the living room like a crazy-ass, rubbing on everything.  I started toweling him off after rain, because clearly he hated the feeling of water on him.

Beron spent most of his day running in figure eights in my yard.  In fact, I still have several deep paths worn by that dog.  He ran and ran and ran- that was how he spent his day outside.  Well, that and sleeping (he was a hound dog, after all).  He loved running.

We had ice a few years ago, when Beron was still living with myself and Greg.  Beron, who would normally bound out into the yard, stared out into the snow for a few minutes.  The urge to pee overwhelmed him, finally, and he tiptoed into the yard.

One foot, delicately placed, after another, he peed, and then came back and huddled in the porch until I let him back in.  A 100 pound dog, all leg, tiptoeing.

Interesting how that works.  My little dog, probably 1/4 the size of Beron, loves snow.  Beron doesn’t like it, is terrified of it, will have nothing to do with it.  He touches it only under duress and his footing, normally so sure, is hesitant and careful.  My little dog is a bit neurotic, even for a terrier.  He shows definite signs of past abuse, and he is sometimes terrified of people for no real reason.  In fact, Jack is still terrified of my younger brother.

Jack can’t always quite handle the status quo, but when something new comes along he handles it as well as everything else.  Beron, who’s never been very neurotic, can’t handle anything changing.

(Also, Jack fits in my lap. Beron, in spite of years of attempts, certainly doesn’t.)