Please don't write to tell me I'm torturing my little buddy in these clothes. She seems a bit arthritic, and it's very important to me that she not suffer in the 28 degree F (-2.22 C) breeze.
I prefer to think of her as loaded for bear. She heads out on her own, poking her nose everywhere it doesn't belong, and pays me no mind. Once in a while she checks my position and reorients her headings.
These things don't bother me so much. There is no sign of having been struck by either ammo or arrow. Most likely, the young buck strayed out onto Route I-86. He survived long enough to wind up in the river, eventually being left on shore when the waters abated.
My little buddy loves the ice. I watch her very carefully, and call her back when I hear any sort of cracking. She's rubbing her nose on it, and licking a little. Maybe she gets a some relief from the heat of her bundling.
On the other hand, she seems to relish my attentions, and moves back and forth, from shore to ice. Her little paws slip in all directions. Quite a change from the competent swimmer of this past summer.
It was not a good birding day. I saw no eagles, only a few crows and seagulls, and the geese hunkered a bit upriver, close to the city. They looked miserable, and I didn't want to send Ellie to scatter them. Also, I feared their clever ability to thin out the ice, where they made a small swimming pond near shore.
There will be other days.