Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

How does one know that a Berner adores the snow?

Perhaps it is the way he wakes in the morning, tilting his head to one side as if he can hear the snowflakes falling, and then springs to his feet to run to the nearest window and peer out.

Perhaps it is the way he scratches at the windows and doors, excitedly looking back and forth between his human family and the exits, churtling a special sound.

Perhaps it is the way he points his nose up into the air when he first steps outside, closes his eyes, beckoning the flakes to fall upon his face.

Maybe we know by the way he leaps up in the air, almost clicking his heels together, bucking, and flipping the white stuff with unbridled enthusiasm.

Maybe it is the way he drives his black nose deep down into it, sniffing and snorting, then rubs his muzzle, neck, and chest all around, often ending up with all four paws in the air, rubbing and rolling.

Maybe it is the way he lays flat on one side, swimming his legs in it, making perfect Berner snow angels shapes all over the driveway.

Or perhaps it is the way he will refuse to come inside, on strike, preferring to lay outside, as still as a rock, collecting a veil of whiteness over his soft coat, a perfect black silouette against a pure white canvas.