Answer my question, Dresden,' Nicodemus growled. 'What is that?'
'A precaution against getting stuck in deep snow,' I said. 'He's training to be a Saint Bernard.'
'Excuse me?' Nicodemus said.
I mimed covering one of Mouse's ears with my hand and stage-whispered, 'Don't tell him that they don't actually carry kegs of booze on their collars. Break his little heart.

Autore: Jim Butcher