Somebody’s luck is bad, I think as the melancholy sound of a siren arrives on the wind. No other town noise reaches here; nothing to complete with a raven’s harsh chants. With snowshoes, I pack a trail over deep snow for Aki. The little poodle mix processes with calm dignity behind, letting the fox that recently tracked the snow know who reigns over Chicken Ridge. I’m working for the fox too, and maybe some nervous snowshoe hares. Even a wolf could exploit me, using the packed trail to run down prey.