Remembering Snowy: April 2006-June 15, 2020
I didn’t think I would have to make this decision about Snowy.
In July 2017 she had surgery to remove bladder stones at the same time I had a knee replacement. We recovered together. Fortunately I didn’t have to wear a collar to keep me from licking my knee wound and she didn’t have to use a walker to get around. But, while she was connected to the heart monitor during the surgery, it became apparent that she had a heart arrhythmia that the vet said would make her susceptible to sudden death. Be prepared, she said, because the research shows that most dogs who are diagnosed with this particular arrhythmia don’t survive past six months. That was the prognosis three years ago next month.
Snowy beat the odds, but in the end, old age and probable congestive heart failure was making each day more challenging for her to eat, to breathe, to get up and down and not lose her balance. In this time of coronavirus and social distancing at the vet, I couldn’t bring myself to take her there. So a vet who makes house calls came this afternoon and Snowy went to sleep one last time in my study, with classical music on the stereo and the balcony door open so she could smell the summer rain.
I don’t believe in heaven, but I sure hope there is a Rainbow Bridge. We had a reminder yesterday afternoon.
Snowy came to live with us in December 2009. She’d had a tough start: rescued out of a high kill shelter in Georgia by a South Carolina group which primarily rescues German Shepherds. But, she wasn’t. As far as we know, she was part Golden Retriever and part American Eskimo. That’s what I told everyone who asked. She was a beautiful dog. I’d hoped to train her as a therapy dog, but she didn’t have the personality. Indifferent to most people, she loved playing with other dogs. And the cats! She wanted Simba to be her best friend and eventually he would come and lie down beside her to sunbathe together.
The rescue group warned me that Snowy liked to play hide and seek. I had no idea what they meant until we discovered that if she got out without a leash, she was off and running. She always came back. But she’d look at me when I was calling her as if to say, “Chill, mom. I’ll be back in 20.” And she always was.
At the beach, walking in the morning, Snowy was my photographer’s assistant. She loved early morning beach walks but did not want to get her paws wet. We watched—and shot—many a beautiful sunrise together at the beach.
Last October we went to the beach, for what I was pretty sure would be her last time, because she was having so much difficulty getting up and down the steps to the beach house and from the deck to the beach. One hind leg was weak, and it would collapse. So we went up the steps with me behind her to prevent her from tumbling down when her leg would give out.
For the last two years we’ve lived in a high rise apartment building. Snowy continued to love her walks—greeting other dog residents we’d pass in the halls or while we waited for the elevator--and finally came to serve as somewhat of a therapy dog. We couldn’t go out that someone wouldn’t ask to pet her, or tell me what a pretty dog she was. Snowy generated lots of smiles from lots of people as we walked the streets shaded by big oaks in downtown Raleigh. Young and old. Black and white. Men, women, children. So many people responded to her with joy for a few moments while we passed each other on the city streets. And it made me happy to see her bringing happiness to others. Well done, my beautiful little white wolf. Mommy is going to miss you so much.
Now, no more fences, decks or leashes. Run free, my Snow girl. Run free.
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RIP Snowey.
I enjoyed seeing Snowy in photos. She was a beautiful dog.
It's hitting me especially hard today because right now I'm waiting for a call from a vet to help me decide whether to send my 17-year-old cat, the best cat in the world, over the rainbow bridge too. It's really hard, isn't it?
My condolences.
we both went through this yesterday.
I told the vet I'd had to make the decision 3 times in the last 12 years: for Simba, his brother, Mouse, and our previous dog, Tanya. Never easy, but so much less complicated than with this decision for Snowy.
She never complained that she couldn't stand up to eat because she couldn't breathe and eat at the same time, or that she was panting just to follow me from room to room in the apartment or that she struggled to stand up because her back legs had so little strength. She just did what she could and continued to be my shadow.
Hugs to you, too, as we mourn our fur kids together.
My heart hurts for you in this time. 
I read your post and started to cry. I loved Snowy's photos that you posted. She always looked an angel in her photos and now she will forever be an angel. I'm thinking of you and sending you strength.
She was such a big part of your life!
I know how much you will miss her--already do, I'm sure. Hell, I miss her.
Your beautiful post brought tears to my eyes.
No more fences, or walls, or pain......She's running free.
What a lovely tribute
I always say that that darned Rainbow Bridge had better be real. I don't care much for the rest of the stories we tell ourselves but that bridge....
Be easy on yourself for a while. You gave her the best going away and it is always so hard but I bet she appreciated it and was content to just go to sleep.
The hardest thing about loving an animal is having to say goodbye. I'm so happy for you and Snowy you were able to say your goodbye and let her move on, in the familiar surroundings of the home she knew for 11 years. RIP Snowy.
It gave me something to do over the weekend while waiting for Monday to come, to work on writing a tribute to her and looking through my photo archives.
I count myself fortunate, indeed, to be able to say goodbye to Snowy in the way it was done. I cannot imagine how awful it has been for the thousands of families who haven't been able to say goodbye in person to their loved ones dying alone in hospitals with only gowned and gloved and masked nurses and doctors to console them.
I am so sorry for your great loss.
I grieve with you, friend.
She looks so beautiful. Your tribute is too, as beautiful as it is sad. I hope you can find some comfort in the memories you shared. God bless you and Snowy. ❤ lmsp
