Mountains still draped in spring snow, tumbling slopes pine-swathed, and the mirror surface of Spirit Lake reflecting everything back to the empty sky - so the view expands as we scramble over the last boulders at the foot of the high valley.

She stands for a moment, drinks the circling vista with her eyes. Those brown jewels sparkle as they turn to me, and I see the joy in her face even before she speaks. Like me, she feels the simple pleasure of lonely places reached by paw.

Mountain daises dot the meadow which sweeps down to the stony shore. "Swim?" It's more announcement than question as she dumps her pack. I wonder how this will be achieved, for we didn't bring suitable attire or towels. But the mountain has taken our inhibitions along with our stress, and she kicks off her shorts and shirt at the water's edge to reveal a symphony of graceful curves.

Heart pounding, I follow. She looks back, catches my stare, winks.

"That will be very cold!" I warn, but I'm not going to be outdone so I slip my shirt over my head - always a struggle for a Saint - then undo my pants and feel them drop to the ground.

As predicted, the icy lake takes my breath away. But it feels amazing - invigorating - and sensual as my naked limbs slide through the water. We laugh, splash each other, swim in circles.

I decide I've had enough when my paws go numb. It's her turn to watch as I clamber out, floods pouring from my bedraggled fur to sluice the rocks. As soon as I'm out, I have a thorough shake and some of my fluffiness is restored. She's not far behind me, and I have to scamper out of the way to avoid another shower as she takes her turn to dry off.

We're still quite damp, and she takes my paw without saying anything, leading me towards a comfortable patch of mossy grass, where we floomp down to dry in the warm sun.

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Hmm, this could easily get NSFW...

Merry Christmas Everyone!