R.I.P. Snowy

Snowy,

You walked up to our house one spring afternoon, eighteen long years ago.

Actually, you bounded up the lawn, in all your exotic, Husky puppy beauty. And it was no sunny, spring afternoon- we had just gotten back from my grandfather's funeral. It felt like somehow, Granpa Johnny had sent you to us as some sort of incarnate ball of mischief, or a harbinger that he'd crossed over and all was well.

We took you to puppy school, and they declared you brilliant, that is, until the day Mom had to take you off your leash. She instructed you to stay, and you promptly ran across the room. The instructor said you'd failed the course, but we knew you really just outsmarted it.

You killed rabbits, pigeons and turtles, most of them pets, but I forgive you. You were just doing what instinct told you.

You loved snow, and you used to look at the other dogs like they were ignorant when they cowered on the back porch in inclimate weather. To you, winter was a wonderful time.

You also had a habit of leading others astray, like the time you and Baby Boy snuck out the fence. You ended up in the pound, and left Baby Boy wandering around the neighborhood for days. But, after a week in jail, you came home and straightened up.

You also loved to slip out of your collar and run down the street. You'd run until your pursuer collapsed in defeat, then you'd turn around and come back.

Thank you for eighteen years of mischief and companionship, Old Blue Eyes. I'll miss you.