A dog must be either eating, asleep, or _interested_. His eagerness
to snatch at interest, to chain his attention to something, is almost
pathetic. The monotony of marching kills him.

This is the fearfullest difficulty for the dog driver on a snow plain
without leading marks or objects in sight. The dog is almost human
in its demand for living interest, yet fatally less than human in
its inability to foresee.

The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment. The human being
can live and support discomfort for a future.

_Sunday, February_ 5.--Corner Camp, No. 6. The blizzard descended on
us at about 4 P.M. yesterday; for twenty-four hours it continued with
moderate wind, then the wind shifting slightly to the west came with
much greater violence. Now it is blowing very hard and our small frail
tent is being well tested. One imagines it cannot continue long as at
present, but remembers our proximity to Cape Crozier and the length
of the blizzards recorded in that region. As usual we sleep and eat,
conversing as cheerfully as may be in the intervals. There is scant
news of our small outside world--only a report of comfort and a rumour
that Bowers' pony has eaten one of its putties!!

11 P.M.--Still blowing hard--a real blizzard now with dusty, floury
drift--two minutes in the open makes a white figure. What a wonderful
shelter our little tent affords! We have just had an excellent meal,
a quiet pipe, and fireside conversation within, almost forgetful for
the time of the howling tempest without;--now, as we lie in our bags
warm and comfortable, one can scarcely realise that 'hell' is on the