Winter, it has to be the single, most depressing season ever. It is absolutely, without a doubt, Anker’s least favorite.
First of all, it’s cold. Snow and sleet, gusty North winds that prickle your skin as they seep through your shaggy coat. Thankfully Anker had spent all Spring, Summer and Fall eating, building up a nice layer of fat to keep his insides warm. Then, if the cold didn’t get ya, there was the lack of food. I mean really, does all the good stuff have to freeze up and die? Sweet, sweet clover. Tender shoots of dandelions, their little yellow petals tasted like sunshine. The thought alone was enough to keep him warm but even his food fantasies were not enough to solve his grumpy attitude.
“Stupid,” he grunted, kicking away piles of snow, attempting to find some form of green goodness beneath. It was always brown though, or yellow, hard and brittle and crunchy. And no, not crunchy in a good way like fresh lettuce. Crunchy in the worst of ways, like over-toasted bread, dry and crumbling- cutting the roof of your mouth. He huffed as he kicked, becoming rather winded from all this work, why did it have to be so difficult to eat? It was too much and yet he remained diligent, scooting and cursing and digging.
“I hate winter,” he growled with a gruff voice, snorting his displeasure as he worked. It was time to move to a new spot, this one obviously had been picked clean. So, with a stomping gait he trudged along through the piles of snow, a fawn colored butterball amidst the drifts. It was imperative that he eat, he could feel his blood sugar getting low and so he carried on his search. He would find some grub, even if he wasted away while doing so. As the hours passed that became a real and frightening possibility for the buckskin. Death by starvation, how shameful.
One thing is for certain, no one would ever have trouble finding him.
First of all, it’s cold. Snow and sleet, gusty North winds that prickle your skin as they seep through your shaggy coat. Thankfully Anker had spent all Spring, Summer and Fall eating, building up a nice layer of fat to keep his insides warm. Then, if the cold didn’t get ya, there was the lack of food. I mean really, does all the good stuff have to freeze up and die? Sweet, sweet clover. Tender shoots of dandelions, their little yellow petals tasted like sunshine. The thought alone was enough to keep him warm but even his food fantasies were not enough to solve his grumpy attitude.
“Stupid,” he grunted, kicking away piles of snow, attempting to find some form of green goodness beneath. It was always brown though, or yellow, hard and brittle and crunchy. And no, not crunchy in a good way like fresh lettuce. Crunchy in the worst of ways, like over-toasted bread, dry and crumbling- cutting the roof of your mouth. He huffed as he kicked, becoming rather winded from all this work, why did it have to be so difficult to eat? It was too much and yet he remained diligent, scooting and cursing and digging.
“I hate winter,” he growled with a gruff voice, snorting his displeasure as he worked. It was time to move to a new spot, this one obviously had been picked clean. So, with a stomping gait he trudged along through the piles of snow, a fawn colored butterball amidst the drifts. It was imperative that he eat, he could feel his blood sugar getting low and so he carried on his search. He would find some grub, even if he wasted away while doing so. As the hours passed that became a real and frightening possibility for the buckskin. Death by starvation, how shameful.
One thing is for certain, no one would ever have trouble finding him.
ANKER
i was starving 'til i tasted you
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