It snowed and was very cold in the week after Timothy died. I went out into the garden as usual to clear the snow for the hens and to give them water in place of their ice.
It was one of the sad times to see something without Timothy for the first time: we’d normally either go outside together, or he’d go outside first and I’d follow. It was the first time for years that I had to break into the snow: normally I’d be following his paw prints.
He didn’t mind snow, he didn’t seem to have much opinion at all on it really. He never refused to go out in it, even as much as he would for heavy rain. He did, though, want a biscuit after having his feet wiped when coming in. Probably as much for the wipe down as the biscuit – he liked being dried with his back against me as I wiped each paw and scrubbed his underneath dry.