阅读理解 Our family loves the snow and cheers at the first good storm of the season. While others may think of Florida, we dream of a cabin vacation in New York's Allegany State Park.
One particular trip, I recall, was just a bit more memorable than the rest. What we now refer to as the snow pants incident began accidentally enough. My husband, Bernie, and our 2-year-old daughter, Faith, were building a snow fort while I sledded down a nearby slope.
On the way back up from one trip, I saw a small stone tumbling down the track I had just made. I was puzzled, since all the other rocks were buried under several feet of snow, as I stood and wondered about the stone—it jumped! This was no stone. This was a mouse.
Now, I love nature, but that doesn't include mice. I loudly protested the invader, and Bernie, coming to my rescue, assured me that this was not a mouse but a mole, as if that mattered. A mouse or a mole I still didn't like it.
Bernie and I stood for a few minutes watching the creature disappear from the path into the furry white and come back out again. But soon it disappeared and I headed up the hill again.
Shortly after I left, my husband screamed out, saying that the mole had gone up the leg of his snow pants. You have to understand Bernie can be quite a joker, and I smelled a rat. Not wanting to be a sucker and fall for another one of his jokes, I laughed it off. When he started running for the cabin, though, I stopped laughing and decided maybe this was for real.
“Don't you dare take that thing into the house!” I yelled. But like a flash, Bernie was already dashing through the cabin's front door, with his snow pants, the mole and all. If it were me, I'd have been down to my long underwear right there in the snow without a second thought.
A few minutes later Bernie appeared. We relished the rest of our winter vacation, drinking lots of hot chocolate, sitting beside the fireplace and admiring nature—from a safe distance.