First Snow

A black and white border collie, laying on a fresh fallen field of nighttime snow
We buried her two weeks ago
Tears falling each day since
Companion of nine winters
Her favorite season upon us
Bounding and snapping at powder
Memories lain bare and fresh
Clinging in hopeless defiance
Even winter has it's season

In the that we had Corrie, she taught us her love of snow. One winter’s day, I went outside to shovel and we let Corrie join me.

She watched and saw the cascade of snow that I tossed off of the drive. She raced towards it and jumped, trying to catch it all in her mouth. She’d wait expectantly for me to throw the snow, and burst into the air.

She didn’t care for the rain, but give her snow and she was happy. With each snow she would nudge me to take her outside. And once she knew there was snow to be had.

She wanted to chase the snow. So I’d lace up my boots, and we’d head outside. I would kick a bit of snow, and she’d bound towards it. Then she’d quickly turn and wait to see where next the snow would go.

And if I weren’t kicking snow to her satisfaction, she would quickly thrust her noise into the crisp white blanket, seeking a hasty snack.

I had to watch her carefully, because she was lost in her winter wonderland. After a few minutes, we’d go back inside so she could warm up. Once inside, she was quick to ask out again.

As I write this, I ruminate on the times where I chose not to heed her nudging, and instead remain inside. Corrie knew something that I didn’t. As the years passed, I wouldn’t care nor remember what I was doing in the comfort of our house.

She knew that winter’s season was fleeting and that I would feel the pain and ache of not having put on my boots and stomped even more with her in the snow.

, we had a magnificent stretch of consistent cold weather and heavy snow. For a month the snow kept accumulating.

At the time, I was working from home and chose to just keep my boots and winter pants on; it make for quicker forays into the deep snow and bitter cold. This made it easier to go out stomping some 10 or 12 times a day. Still not enough, but certainly better than years past.

I wrote to capture the memory and grandeur of those simple adventures that then meant the world to Corrie and Ollie, and now mean the world to me.

With this first snow, I felt a renewed weight of loss. Of one of my steadfast companions now gone. Herself long living with numerous ailments, yet ever eager to step into a fresh field and make tracks that were the most simple of adventures.