Back in February, when Sandra was almost seven months pregnant, we decided to go snowshoeing for the day. We packed the car full with John, Shalini, Penny and four enormous pairs of snowshoes and drove east from La Jolla. We only had to drive about an hour to reach Mt. Laguna. Or close enough to Mt. Laguna, as it turned out; it had snowed quite a bit over the previous few days and the police closed the access road to the peak. (We weren't going to drive all the way up anyway, but we couldn't even get on the road.) Undeterred, we drove around until we could drive no further, crossed a few streams, and left the car for the day.
We have no idea how far we hiked; my guess is about seven miles, give or take, all with snowshoes. The highest point on Mt. Laguna is almost 6,400 feet (about 2,000 meters), but we couldn't ascend near the peak even if we wanted. (We did.) 
Penny took to the snow like a champ. She basically treated it as if it was her familiar sand: burrowing her nose into the powder, rolling around on her back, and generally being a goofball.
Sandra too. She wanted to keep hiking after the rest of us, perhaps save Penny, were more than happy throwing in the towel, err gloves.
On the way home we stopped for roadside burgers and some tasters at the Alpine Brewery. Sandra walked Penny around while Shalini, John and I enjoyed some beer. When we were ready to leave Sandra and Penny were nowhere to be found. After a few minutes two men walked past us. I asked if they'd seen a woman and dog roaming the area. "Shaggy dog?" one asked. Before I could answer the other interrupted with the correction, "Super shaggy." We knew we were on Sandra and Penny's trail.
