Mustelidae must heed any ukase of the clan’s mom, especially those Siberian ones regarding manners of everyday nom.
If, upon their scarves all-dressed are icy fractal-stars, they may lick the toppings just once—the same as fingers round pb jars.
If those snowy flakes melt by mixing with ermines’ sniffly-phlegmy tears, they may take two shots of the belly-wash with toasts to stoats. Cheers!
Some weasels argue that Russian rascals are quite unrefined, but jabs ad hominem discount the genius of tucker sans hunter for the well-dined. ; )