Snow Hounds – A Dog’s Tail
It had snowed for one-hundred days straight in Sweden. There was no longer any place to put it. The smaller towns were buried first, then cities. Stockholm simply disappeared. Survivors lived below, in tunnels—like rabbits.
Ellie always woke up first these sunless mornings. “Woof.” She nudged her cousin, Mio, who was already awake and wondering where it would all end. “We’re getting out of here,” she growled.
Meo saw she was serious and ready or anything. But . . . there was risk. “You mean we’re going up? On top?”
“The surface.” Ellie stretched. “It’s time to go. It’s now or never. We have to try, or die here in this winter wasteland that’s forgotten summer and remembers only rain, and wind . . . and snow.”
“Tell me about it.” Mio sniffed. “Go where?” “I don’t know. Someplace warmer, where a dog can see the sun. Alaska maybe, or Siberia. Siberia is good this time of year.” “I used to know a bitch from Russia.” Mio wagged his tail. “Whatever.” Ellie trotted off. “We’re going up, then heading north.”
* * *It took a day from them to dig their way up to the top. The sun was blinding. For a moment Ellie though she felt a bit of warmth, but then it passed, for they were still in Sweden. The brave hounds started off across the endless drifts of glaring white that reflected a sick sun circling a desolate Swedish horizon. They left with only the coats on their backs, and dog-like determination.