Snostorm

Emerald Snostorm

July 27, 1996 - June 4, 2007

I've been avoiding blogging for awhile, as you probably noticed, because I haven't really been sure how to deal with this. I know I don't need to write about it, but it will feel Not Right if I don't.

Snostorm, my baby, died on June 4. To be fair, we ended her life, and God, that was the worst thing I've ever had to do. To make that decision for another living being. But after an incident on Memorial Day weekend when she couldn't stop crying in pain, things didn't get better, only worse. She was on constant pain meds again, after being off them for almost two months after her surgery. Then, toward the end of that week, she couldn't walk properly--dragging her right rear leg--and some of her basic bodily functions started to fail. We suspect that either the cancer spread to her spine or internal organs, or she might have even had a minor stroke.

I stayed with her to the end. That was something I wasn't sure I could do. But after they administered the sedative, I tried to get up and she opened her eyes and looked at me. So, I stayed. As difficult as that was, I'm glad I did. I didn't want her to be alone or afraid in a room of strangers. Life had already been hard on her. She didn't need that at the end.

I loved her. She was my baby. And I miss her so much every day. She used to wait for me to come home. She'd get up in the morning and come and lay in my writing room, even after her surgery when she had to hop there. Her fur was the softest I've ever felt on a dog, and she always smelled sort of sticky sweet, like day old syrup or something.

I taught her to sit and shake. Greg carried her down the stairs when, on her first day with us, she was brave enough to go up but not back down. When we first met her, she rolled over on her back in her crate at the kennel, begging for a tummy rub. She was the only dog there who didn't bark when we came in, which was important as we were living in a tiny condo at the time.

She lived with us for eight years, joining our family only a few months after we were married. We were so hoping she would make it to her eleventh birthday next month.

There are so many things I want to say, little moments I want to remember, but I don't feel up to writing it all down just yet. Hurts a little too much right now, the wound is still too raw.

It sounds weird and completely superficial, but one thing I'm really glad of is that Bitter Pill will be making it to print, as Rennie's greyhound, Fritzy, is based on her. In that little way, Snostorm will live forever, you know? I'm just sad that she can't be here to come with me to the book release party next spring. She would have loved all the attention.