I would be first out the door. The first to land on the fresh fallen snow. Me, this time the first foot prints would be MINE!
Morning sun was barely showing. I did my best tip-toe to the mud-porch where the boots were piled in a heap, where the warm coats hung ready. Pull on the boots. Slip on the coat. Slowly open the squeaky back door. Squeeze through the narrow opening. Then, then I could…
But there they were: Footprints. Dang. I had not counted on Dad heading out to milk the cows. Dang.
The best I could do was to align my foot prints next to his, as if we both went out together.
So that’s what I did.