The cool stream water slid down her throat, cooling her and washing down the last bits of her last meal. Pickings had been slim since winter began. Normally, there was something, anything, roaming around she could find.
But not this year.
This year was the coldest she remembered, and that not only heightened her desperation, but also her enjoyment when she caught something.
Standing up and sniffing the air, she paused as the wind ruffled her whitish-gray fur and brought a familiar scent to her.
She started to drool at smelling cooking bacon and other goodies. Now, to sneak in…