“Snoticles.” That’s what I call the tiny crystallized drops of water that form on Olive’s whiskers and at the portals of her snout. They can also form in the absence of snow, when it’s just so frigid that the breath she exhales creates these infant droplets that condense instantly. Or, it’s simply evidence of what I call “snow nose.” The result of Olive’s “scenthoundia,” which compels her to plow her finely tuned snout into the snow in search of…whatever the hell is squirming in the earth beneath it. Watching her play in the snow with such gleeful abandon is amusing. I think her favorite part is after zooming around her fenced in yard faster than a gazelle on coke, she slams on the brakes and the snow goes flying as though she’s just slid into home plate and been called “safe.” And then, seeking refreshment, she lowers her head and begins eating snow by the fistfuls. I decide to toss a nicely formed snowball at her. She tracks its trajectory as it sails through the air like a fresh golden Twinkie. When it lands in the snow and “disappears,” she executes a series of gymnastic stunts trying to quickly find it. “WHERE THE HELL DID IT GO?” she wonders. As payment for this entertainment, and to not disappoint Olive, I toss her the embryonic twin of the fugitive snowball. She gobbles it to pieces as though I had just fed her a freshly baked parakeet. Goofy dog.