Last Sunday was one of the prettiest winter days we've had here in Casper. The temperature was in the upper 30s, the sun peeked out from behind its usual wall of clouds, and it wasn't windy.
Allow me to reiterate. It wasn't windy.
Knowing the pleasant weather wouldn't last long, we headed up to Casper Mountain for an afternoon of snowshoeing with the pooches.
I started noticing a pattern on this little blog. Daphne doesn't appear very frequently in our pictures. It's not because we love her any less than our Cashboy, it's just because she rarely wants to stick around for photos. She'd rather be off hunting small animals or exploring mountainsides or sleeping under the kitchen table, away from any disturbances. We've always said, if Daphne could talk, she would sound like a pretentious British woman, a la Lisa Vanderpump. So with that said, here is the only picture I managed to get of our girl, mid shake-face, barreling past us. Oh well, I tried.
Midway through, we stopped to catch our breath at this peaceful little brook running beneath the snow. There wasn't a single person in sight and only the sound of water trickling around us.
This serene moment was quickly followed by my graceless descent down the mountain in three feet of fresh powder. Keane's attempt came with much more ease and in about half the time.
Surely I get some style points for smiling, no?
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