I have a friend who lives in Willow, Alaska, a mecca for mushers. She's become used to and even enjoys the constant songs of the dogs, but she noted something unusual the night of the first significant snowfall.
Silence. It was as if these dogs, finely tuned athletes that they are, were also somehow tuned into Mother Nature's whims and knew that soon, tantalizingly soon, it would be time to don their harnesses and run once again with sleds. They slept silently, awaiting the next morning and the glistening snow that awaited them.