I pick up my dreamcatcher, examining it's features. Each feather is snow-white with a black tip. I like the colors.

It reminds me of Patch.

I hold an old picture from my dresser, one that had evidently been sitting there for years. I don't know why I keep it. I don't know if it makes me happy or sad. I don't want it anymore, but I can't help watching it just before I fall asleep in my cold, furry bed.

I shiver. It's cold out here, in Canada. I live in a small town in the bitter snow, with only a few other people.

And my snowy owl.

Diver was named after what I saw her do the most. Dive. She dived for water, for mice, for rabbits. I used to try and save those animals, to keep them alive.

And I succeeded, many times.

One day, I found Diver sitting all alone in the snow. She looked tired and weak with exhaustion, and she was trying to fly. Her wings looked shriveled and dead. I took her inside, warmed her up, and fed her a mouse that had been eating my clothes.

My pictures.

Later, I let her outside. She wanted to stay with me, but I thought she should be free. She flew around my house, then took off.

She still visits from time to time.

I look outside the window. It's snowing, a frosty coating on the fresh, white ground. I can see Diver circling above, her head tilted.

She dives.

I sigh and look at the picture.

A black and white border collie smiles at me, as my dreamcatcher blows in the wind.

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