This winter won’t be the same. For 15 years before
this one, each “first” snowfall became cause for celebration when my dog
discovered the drifting flakes.
Every year, Hannah pranced and jumped and giggled (I’m pretty sure she
was giggling) like a puppy at the official end of autumn that snow signified
to her. She excitedly rolled on her back, legs thrashing upward, on the
first white patch to survive melting.
Even last December, just a couple of months from the end of her life, she
found joy in the start of the winter season. She didn’t jump and wiggle,
of course. She stiffly walked down the porch stairs with some dignity to
stand under the light snowfall. She looked up and no doubt thought, “Finally.
This is nice.” Advanced age and illness couldn’t contain one little “dance,”
let’s call it, and then Hannah turned around and came back inside.
In earlier winters, cold temperatures brought out the best in my beast
and at times kindled a little too much fire in her belly. Long before the
popularity of “skijoring,” where a single harnessed dog pulls a skier,
Hannah discovered that my severely limited traction on ice opened a world
of possibilities to her, especially in her pursuit of the neighbor cat.
Hannah never did like warm weather. We agreed on that. When she and I moved
to the tropical climate of western South Dakota, Hannah had trouble adjusting.
Occasionally she had trouble breathing. The vet said Hannah just wasn’t
bred for even the slightly warmer weather of Rapid City. I figured the
same thing could be said of me, the offspring of a Swede and a French Canadian.
I almost start panting in temperatures above 75 degrees. (In Canada, I
pant above 24 degrees.)
 So
I understand all of you who wait, patiently or impatiently, for winter
to arrive. There’s plenty to do, Hannah taught me, and the chill makes
romping part of the jubilation. In some ways, I look forward to winter’s
opener despite the sadness lurking there this year. For love of a dog,
I might just jump off the porch and do a little dance when the first snowflakes
fall (my husband and neighbors be warned).
Plus, I have something to anticipate. This summer a new pup waddled into
our lives and I can hardly wait to see what she thinks of her first winter.
It will be hard to tell yet if she’s following in Hannah’s paw prints.
At less than a year old and new to the planet, Sammy seems to prance and
jump and giggle - and chew and tug and run - all the time. This year, we
won’t know if Sam loves snow or if she is simply happy to be here
… whatever the time of year.
Konnie LeMay
Editor
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