I’m miserable. My beautiful boy died in December. He would have loved the snow we’re having now. We would have all been outside playing with him and having the best time. He’d have filled himself up on snowballs. There’d be huge paw prints in the yard. The house would have been drenched and filthy after he came in and rubbed and shook himself over the sofas and the rug and the walls. I’d have photos of him sliding himself down the garden. He’d make yellow snow. All our snow is white. I hate it.