I send the veterinarian a book that features an intense and very disturbing passage about a gang rape. My enthusiasm for the book as a work of literature clouds my judgement about what constitutes an appropriate gift.
It is a frigid night when the man who works with me at NWMB has me over for dinner. The wind is whipping between the houses. His huskie is curled up by the front door. I ask if he ever brings the dog indoors when it is too cold. He says “no, he is much happier outdoors. He’s built for the cold.”
A watch a dog team heading out onto Frobisher Bay, seeking the floe edge.