The crisp crunch of the snow's top layer, the soft free fall through the depth of the snow.
The gum leaves coated with snow on the windward side, branches bowed down with icy leaf shadows.
The brittle crack of branches snapping at the top of the barest trees, killed on Black Saturday.
The thump of snow, bark or branch hitting the snow banks below.
Czar utterly focussed on the horizon, scanning for small living creatures. Don't bother me, mum!
Bolo dragging his muzzled nose through snow bank, filling up the gaps with snow. I worry about his nose getting frostbite.
My back aches and the leash digs into my wrist, as the dog drags me on, eager to explore further. I grin manically.
J smiles and snaps photos when I sit down to make snow angels, before I remember that I have a dog tied to my arm. How does this work?
Ours and the other dogs are unusually silent, except Bolo, who protests every pause, every halt in his forward movement.
Snowballs magically attract the dog's attention. Czar gracefully and effortlessly launches up, collects the projectile and gently deposits them on the ground, slightly puzzled. Bolo smashes at them, and crashes to the ground to roll in delight.
People and dogs straggle happily back to the car park.