"It's not what it looks like," he said, glaring.

Sandy came upon him as she skied cross country. It was an overcast, dreary Christmas morning.

"What do you mean? It looks like you killed a deer. Is it hunting season?"

He went back to butchering in the blood stained snow. Grunting with his effort, he finished.

"It was a difficult shot. Yes, it's hunting season. Around here, anyway."

"Why are you trying to hide it, then? If hunting is legal."

Then she noticed something odd... besides him squatting there, gutting a deer.

The slaughtered creature had a glowing red nose.