For Max, who enjoys a winter serving of snow more than any I know, this lovely poem by Mary Oliver.
The Storm
Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in the world.
Oh, I could not have said it better
myself.
an everyday life 
What fun! This one gets passed on to some of the snowbound doggie owners I know. A few would prefer not to have to be forced outdoors because of the “necessities of life”, but this may help!
Linda,
It sure can’t hurt. When I stumbled upon this poem again this morning, it helped me better appreciate the great white outdoors from Max’s perspective. In. Out. In. Out. That poodle boy of ours cannot get enough snow ice cream. I can’t count the number of times he’s asked, begged and even resorted to a few pitiful whines to get me up to open the door. Unlike your friends, my part is easy since a fenced backyard means I’ve no escort duties.
Janell
Janell, I am in the process of reading a lot of my Mary Oliver poem books. Read this yesterday. Reminded me of my Callie.
You know Ernestine, after visiting you this morning, I’m not surprised to hear that Mary’s poem connected with yours.
I’m new to Mary Oliver — discovered her just last spring. I owe my writing teacher a great gratitude — for now I’m owner of three of her volumes. Maybe someday, either here or there, you can name your favorite — for newbies like me.
Glad you stopped by.
Janell