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Donna learned early on in her relationship with Dave Henderson that taking a midnight stroll was not just an enjoyable escape from the hectic demands of everyday life. For a woman in love with a werewolf, long romantic walks in the moonlight were a necessary part of life. And, as the leaves turned red and gold and then fell from the trees in the autumn of their first year together, Donna reflected that there were other evening activities that she might actually find more romantic than long walks in the bitter cold.
Mulled wine by a crackling fire might be nice, she thought. Lying in her negligee on a pelt of some sort. (Well. That one she actually could do, and it was going on the list for later.)
The fact was Dave needed his walkies, regardless of weather, or else he got restless. Donna took to repeating that old adage: neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night will stay this girlfriend from completing her task.
There were some upsides, of course, but those mainly came after they got back. She loved getting out of her boots as quickly as possible and sticking her frozen toes against Dave’s warm belly, or tucking her chilly fingers into his waistband to warm up while he massaged the warmth back into her feet and calves.
Sometime around February, though, when she and Dave had been together for just over six months, a freak snowstorm hit. By the time she woke up, Donna’s front lawn was buried under almost four feet of snow.
Sipping her hot chocolate, Donna stared out the kitchen window at the winter wonderland. How were she and Dave going to take a walk now? She could barely stand the prospect of opening the door, let alone trudging through armpit-deep snow for miles.
The phone’s shrill ring startled her out of quiet contemplation. “Hello, Donner residence,” she answered.
“Yes, hello, Donna?” Sadie’s voice always made Donna smile.
“Sadie! Did you get snowed in?”
“Oh, darling, it’s simply awful! The streets are covered in snow and the city has ground to a standstill!”
“Oh no,” Donna said. “Can you get out?”
Sadie laughed. “Why, Donna, I don’t plan to leave the house! My worry is that my liquor delivery boy won’t be able to make it to my door with his dolly full of liquor cases. Can you even imagine?”
“Are you nearly out of liquor?”
“Of course I am! I only have three bottles of bourbon, one bottle of rye, and two bottles of gin left. Oh, and half… make that one quarter of a bottle of vodka.” Sadie lowered her voice. “Donna, I don’t believe this will last me until the streets are cleared.”
“Have you checked your hope chest?” Donna asked. The two of them had spent one very spirited evening packing Sadie’s hope chest chock-a-block full of bottles of rare liquors, set aside for an emergency or for celebrating nuptials, whichever came first.
“Why, Donna, you’re a genius! I had willed myself to forget that stash existed.” Sadie sounded relieved. “Oh, and I’ve been so rude. How are you faring with the snow?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Donna began. “I’ve got everything I need right here, except, well…” she trailed off. “Well, I might not be able to take Dave on his walk.”
“Oh no, darling. Is the snow really that bad? I don’t suppose you could ride him like a lupine pony?”
“I’m afraid not,” Donna said, “and it really is that bad. We got four feet out here, Sadie!”
“Oh dear.” Sadie was quiet for a moment. “Oh, Donna, I’ve just had a thought. What do you have in the way of sporting equipment?”
Later that evening, Donna considered how lucky she was to have a friend as bright as Sadie. She laughed as Dave practically gamboled through the drifts in the back yard toward the tennis ball she had thrown for him. He was having the time of his life, romping and tripping through the snow, and she didn’t even have to leave the porch.
Walks were nice, she thought, but she could get used to fetch.
Years later, both Hendersons watched as Michelle pitched her first middle school softball game. She was already getting recruited by top little league teams. Years of practice playing fetch with Dave had given her a champion’s arm.
Michelle walked to the mound, tall and straight, face set. She was always intense when she pitched, sometimes frightening the kids at bat with her apocalypse death-stare. The effect was somewhat ruined right before she reached the mound. Catching a glimpse of her parents in the stands, she cracked a wide grin and gave them a goofy wave. Donna couldn’t be prouder, even if she did have to stifle a laugh as Michelle paused to pitch a fake-out in the direction of her father, giggling as his head whipped around, ready to chase the fantom ball.