Jerry dropped onto his knees, pushing his pads wide then hopped back up again, the young frog moving to try to keep warm. “Jeez, I hate the cold. Why can’t hockey be a summer sport?” he complained, pulling his scarf higher and his toque lower until he was a pair of bulbous eyes peering out of set of thickly padded winter clothes, with goalie stick, glove and pads at the extremities. He was short, not yet a teenager, but getting close.

“Oh, stop complaining,” Mickey said, the husky in a thin jacket, looking energized by the cold air. She let her mouth hang open, enjoying the crispness of the winter air, breath clouding as she breathed. Her actual name was Michelle, but she didn’t like it, so they wisely didn’t use it. She was five inches taller than Jerry and growing fast, her dark, royal blue Leafs jacket already looking a bit short on her. Her eyes were already locked on the ball, tail wagging as she made occasional jabs at it with her stick.

The ball was kept it deftly out of her reach by a young coyote. He was shorter than Mickey by an inch–and a half, according to Mickie–but the was lean and quick and clever with his hands. Tom grinned, tapping the ball back and forth only to suddenly block the thrusts of the intruding stick of Mickey, or to draw the ball back out of her reach. “Is Bill coming out?” he asked. Mickey took advantage of the lapse in concentration, stick tapping the ball behind him, forcing Tom to turn around to control it.

“His mom said he’s not allowed out until he gets his room clean.” Jerry shook his head at the silly battle, but as the goalie of the cul-de-sac, he stayed neutral in such skirmishes.

“Have you SEEN his room?” Tom asked. “He’ll won’t be out until March!” He turned with the ball to circle Mickie for a shot on the empty net, but she quickly stepped sideways to block him. He shot anyway, trying it through her legs, but it went off her heel and wide into the snowbank. He frowned, and Mickie grinned triumphantly and wheeled to fetch the ball.

Jerry hmmed. “How about the K’s?” he asked, pointing his glove at another house.

Mickie snorted, and backhanded the ball into the net, bouncing it off the white web and catching it as it ricocheted back out. “Kim and Kam said it’s unladylike.” The scorn was thick in her voice. “They’re baking cookies, I think.”

Jerry shrugged. “Their dad will throw them outside after a while.”

“But maybe we should make sure they’re doing all right in, oh, about half an hour…” Tom’s grin was predatory and he licked his lips.

“Yeah, let’s see if I can shut you out until then,” Jerry teased, then caught the ball Mickie flicked to him. “Once around the lamppost after I drop the puck as usual. Game on.”