It was cold.

Huge flakes of whiteness fell silently to the ground as we walked, making it seem as if the very sky was falling. Our booted paws crunched through the deep, thick snow, and I could feel myself sink into the ground a little with every step I took. The wind was gentle this Christmas Eve; even though it was quite small, it still chilled my face some. I was grateful for my coat, scarf, and gloves—they kept me reasonably warm. And of course, the feeling of my love’s paws in between my own made me feel quite nice on the inside, too.

I looked to the side at her, seeing her shiver a little in the wintry storm. Wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her in close, I gave her muzzle a little lick. She giggled and I grinned.

“Merry Christmas,” I said, brushing up against her fuzzy face with my own. She was a canine—like me—with long, pointed ears, a sleek muzzle, and luxuriant soft fur. Of course, hidden underneath all that beauty was an even more lovely heart. She gripped my paw tighter and leaned against me.

“And happy Chanukkah to you too,” she replied, equally as joyous. She giggled and took the small hat right off the top of my head, applying it to her own and dancing around with it on playfully. “These things look so silly. Why are you still wearing this outside in a snowstorm, even, you weirdo?”

I licked her again. “Because I was so captivated by your beauty that I just had to run out and meet you right after lighting the menorah.” And then I took my yarmulke back. “And don’t make fun of it. I could say the same thing about your odd-looking Pope-hats.” Although I sounded angry, I was just teasing her, and she knew this because she laughed even harder. But I could see through her joviality: her eyes were glowing with sadness. After a minute or two, she stopped, sighed, and then looked down towards the snow-blanketed ground. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in again, waiting patiently for her to talk. Important things should not be rushed and she sighed again.

“What do you guys do for Chanukkah anyway?” she asked suddenly. I shrugged.

“It’s the festival of lights, baby.”

“You are such a tease!”

“Am I?” I said, grinning. “You only do to me what the lit oil does for the menorah: turn me on.”

“Now you’re just being a loser!” and I laughed.

“That one little flask of oil lasted for eight days when we really needed it,” I said, growing serious. “We celebrate that with joyous gift-giving, game-playing, and food-eating.” And then I squeezed her. “And I’m not going to ask you what you do for Christmas. I’d be a loser not to know about that.”

“We’re almost the same,” she said quietly, leaning her head against my shoulder. I held her, but I didn’t quite understand what she meant. She sighed again.

“How can we be so alike, but yet be so different at the same time?” she asked.

“Because if we were all the same, it would be really boring?” She didn’t smile at my crappy joke, which was really weird, because usually she would be giggling right about now. Something must be really bothering her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She hugged me.

“My parents still don’t want me to go out with you,” she said. I frowned.

“It’s because I’m Jewish, isn’t it?” and she grinned, lashing out at me with her footpaw playfully.

“Will you stop with the bad jokes?” she cried, even though I had gotten her to laugh. “I’m dead serious. You know how it is. Your parents think the same thing, too. You told me they did.”

“Marry inside the religion,” I did in an overly-sarcastic voice, a pure mockery of my mom’s. “I don’t want you marrying a gentile!”And then I hugged her again. “You’re more important to me than some beliefs. Nothing will get me to change my high opinions of you.”

“This Christmas stinks,” she said, falling back against me. “Christmas, Chanukkah…even Kwanzaa… None of them are about the bloody presents. It’s about being together, with your family and friends. It’s about loving one another, and each other. We may have different reasons for being together these holidays, but it’s still a main point of them, right? That’s the true meaning of them all: togetherness. So really, I don’t know why are parents are so angry about both of us being so different. As I said earlier, we are so much alike, even though we are different.”

“You’re crazy,” I said to her, surprised by her deep thoughts. She licked me playfully on the nose.

“I just want to be with you forever.” I looked into her eyes and noticed that she was crying. I squeezed her even tighter. “How am I supposed to have a happy Christmas when I can’t even be together with the one I love? That’s the main point, remember? Love. Togetherness.”

I sighed. I didn’t know how to answer her. Instead, I looked back into the sky. The white flakes kept tumbling down, flittering to the ground like little dull stars. It was getting late, and I knew her and I had to go back home soon. She nuzzled against me, her soft fur burying into my own.

“Happy Chanukkah,” she said to me again, and I rubbed her back.

“And merry Christmas, even if it isn’t so merry.”

She sighed, and we stood there in the snow some more, staring as the flakes continued falling down. I shivered and pulled her closer.

It was cold.

But because of the little light called faith shining in my heart, winter didn’t feel so bad.