The New Year

It's January 1st, and we're hiking in the mountains. The snow fog is so thick that it's even safe for the Sasquatch to come out without being detected. (Having relocated to the Northwest fairly recently, I'm already inclined to make bad jokes about the local cryptofauna.)

Aptly named Glacier, a cream Golden Retriever, is soon lulled into meditation by the falling snowflakes. Later, in a rare display of obedience--for a basset--Roediger runs back to his mom (me!), while Glacier is seriously considering chasing those mule deer down the mountain!   

Superstitious Russians believe that the manner in which you spend New Year's will reflect upon the way the rest of the year goes. I spent mine in the mountains with two excellent canines, so I feel pretty good about that!