This was a month of massive snowfall. On New Year’s Day I went out and broke trail in front of my dogs. At times I was up to my armpits. We made four miles in five hours. When the storms abated kids used rooftops as slides.

By the middle of January daylight returned as a slither, a wedge that was to thicken at the passing of everyday.

The ice edge is about 8 km from my house. The ice edge is a place that makes up a training run I take with my dogs. We had unicorn-like narwhales breeching there this month. They are mysterious to watch. Narwhale tusks always spiral to the left and years and years ago royalty were suckers and bought them as unicorn tusks.

Another polar bear was shot near houses one Friday night. It was attacking a friend’s dogs. An hour later the dogs were eating the bear. I’ve never been troubled by blood and guts. I was a professional hunt kennel-man. And mighty proud of it I was too. By ‘hunt’ I mean foxhunting. I was responsible for the welfare of 159 foxhounds. All had names and at night I could tell whose bark was whose. Everyday I skinned horses, cows, calves and sheep to feed them. Kennel management was strict and disciplined. On foot, bicycles or off horses I exercised that foxhound pack twice daily. Every summer I reared at last 11 litters of puppies.