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The life of a snowman is rather zen-like. You’re endowed by your creator with almost no inalienable rights. You have no free will. The view never changes. But there’s a certain nobility in the calm, unflappable dignity of your existence — even the soft gentle melting of your passing has a certain grace.
Unless of course one of the tigers at Longleat Safari Park in England comes along and takes off your head or rips you in half. Then you fall to pieces just like the rest of us.