Tree Farm Sunday

A long snowy road at the tree farm, to me, is just like the beach at Little Dog Lake. Don't be fooled by my short awkward legs and floppy feet, this Gromit can run. Claire and I left Clifford at home with Hannah to do whatever it is he does, and went for a run at the tree farm with Mum and Dad.

Claire spent most of her time leaping into the deep fields and rolling ridiculously in the snow. I've never been much of a snow roller. Sometimes I pretend to be a snow plough, but mostly I prefer to stick with the roads and paths - where my legs don't get stuck.

We traveled a different road through the tree farm this time, past the tree shipping and cone receiving, across a sea of trees from our usual trail through the pine plantation. As if there wasn't already enough snow for Claire, more was coming down blanketing my forest laboratory.

After all the running around that day I was too tired to defend myself against a bath. I suspect it was just another attempt by Dad to enhance my wonderful Gromit smell. Everybody seems to approve, and have commented on how soft my freckly fur is, so I'm not going to complain.