Maggie would have loved the snow this morning.
Even in this, her 14th year, she would run out the door when she saw fresh snow, throw herself down into it, and roll on her back, like the snow was scratching some itch that she couldn’t otherwise reach. When she was on her feet again, she would shove her snout into the snow, bringing it up with a small white pile on her muzzle. She always liked to grab a few bites of snow on her way back in the house.
I’ve never seen another dog love snow like that. The joy of Maggie’s snow-love always brought a smile to my face.
This morning’s snow is pretty — but there’s no Maggie to revel in it. No Maggie to bound through the depths of the drifts. No Maggie to chase the snow thrown from the shovel as we clear the driveway. No Maggie to leave that odd dog-snow-angel print just off the deck.
Maggie had been my birthday gift 14 years ago. I had long wanted for a dog, but my husband was resistant to adding a furry member to our family. In 2008, I received a leash, a collar, a dog dish for my birthday — and I looked up at him and said, “What’s all this?”
“You can get a dog,” he said.
And thus Maggie was adopted into our family.
On my birthday this year, we had to put Maggie down.
I still haven’t even been able to cry about it — life is too full. If you’ve ever been in that place of not being able to cry, you’ll know the giant lump of ice resting in your chest that can only be melted by tears — and the tears won’t cooperate.
I looked at the snow morning and missed Maggie intensely.
Now she’s a real dog-snow-angel and I hope someone somewhere is throwing snowballs for her to chase.
Rest in peace, Maggie.