Dear Snip

“Congestive heart failure in dogs” was the last thing I Googled on this computer and the page that popped open as soon as I logged on was a harsh reminder of what brings me to write today. I don’t want to write. I want to sleep in, pull the covers over my head. But here I am, watching the sun rise, drinking coffee, and missing my sidekick, Snip.

Thursday night was one like most others in our household. Dinner of leftovers, clean up, showers, dessert, second desserts, electronics, then bed. As always, I scooped Snippy up, said our goodnights to Nana, and proceeded up the stairs. “He’s been acting off today” Mom said. I nodded my head and agreed. He wasn’t his usual self, more lethargic if that were even possible for one of the laziest dogs on the planet. I carried him to his upstairs bed and went about our nighttime rituals—brush your teeth, brush your teeth, BRUSHYOURTEETH. My kids are terrible at oral hygiene. Maire came into my room to say goodnight to Snippy when he suddenly let out a loud yelp and stuck out his legs. He looked as though he were having a seizure. Within a minute, Snip came to and I cradled him in my arms as he panted away. J.D. watched in horror, Maire threw her head in his lap and cried. “What’s wrong with him?” they asked. “I don’t know” I cried.

Snip soon settled down, seeming more scared by what happened than anything. His breathing got better and I sat with him as he fell asleep. The next morning, Isaac came into my room at 4:30 coughing and complaining of a sore throat. He has horrible allergies and this spring they have been brutal. I knew I couldn’t send him to school like that and made preparations to take a family sick day. Isaac sat up and drank some water, finally falling back to sleep an hour later. Snip began to stir so I carried him downstairs to go out for his morning pee. The air was so cool that morning and my pajamas, covered in Snip’s fur, were far too thin. He peed, went up the stairs by himself, came in the house, and went straight to his downstairs bed. No water, no food, just sleep. I watched as his belly rose and fell much faster than the days before. He was struggling to breathe. J.D. was up within the hour, got ready for school, sat with Snip for a bit and asked what I was going to do. “He needs to go the doctor today so we can find out what happened.” I told him.

After J.D. got on the bus, I felt Snip’s little head and he felt warm. Jorge arrived as usual to get the kids ready for school. He didn’t know I would be home and panicked when he saw me. Even Salvadorans have that Irish “who’s dead?” way of assuming the worst. “He’s fine” I told him, already aware of what had happened the night before. “He needs to go to the doctor but Isaac is also sick. Can you take him?” “Of course” he said. I carried Snip up the stairs, deciding (stupidly) to give him a bath as if that would somehow magically cure him. As I scrubbed his fur and scratched the part right above his tail (his butt we call it - he loved to have his butt scratched), he started to make that same noise he had made the night before and suddenly fell over with legs straight out into the tub. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” I pulled him out of the tub, he was completely limp and started to poop. I ran down the stairs with him, wrapped in a towel. “Come outside Jorge. He’s dead. I think he’s dead.” I said, wanting to keep Maire away from the scene. I laid Snippy down on the ground as he gagged and gasped water that he had taken in during his episode. He was still alive but clearly struggling. We wiped him down with the towel and Jorge held him as he shook and continued to lose bowel control.

“It’s his heart” Jorge said, calling me from the vet’s office. “We have a few options. We can treat it with medication and see how he does. We could leave him here for observation. We could admit him to another hospital and see what they can do. Or…..and I don’t want to do that.” Jorge couldn’t bring himself to say it. The reality was, however, that all the options were very expensive and could only get Snip a little more time. And what would be the quality of that time? When Jorge brought him home, I took one look at him with his catheter still in his arm and knew. It was time. Far sooner than I had ever thought but it was time. “Jorge.” I said and soon we both knew. “We already have an appointment for tomorrow. He told me he could do it then.” I nodded. “He’s suffering. I don’t want him to suffer and I don’t want him to have another one of those attacks.”

Isaac came down, completely unaware of all of the events, and saw both of us crying next to Snip on the couch. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Snippy boy?” Isaac asked. “He’s very sick, Isaac. His heart is weak and isn’t doing what his body needs to live a good life. We’re going to take him to the doctor tomorrow and he’s going to give him a medicine that will help him relax and then will stop his heart.” “Nooooooooo! Noooooooo! He can’t die! I don’t want him to give him that medicine! NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Isaac coughed his way through his tears and rapidly displayed a textbook case of Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief. Well, at least the first few. I had Googled “how to talk to kids about the death of a pet” on my phone before laying it all out for Isaac who, as we know, takes things quite literally. The “don’t do” checklist ran through my mind—don’t say he’s going to be put to sleep (kids can fear sleep if you say this and I DO NOT want that), don’t say God took him (kids will start to fear who God wants next), don’t sugarcoat it (no problem there), etc. How the hell did we humans get through life before Google?

“You’re going to need to do this two more times” Mom said, referring to the fact that there were two more children who needed to be told. She had witnessed me cradling Snip on the floor the night before and probably knew what had to happen before I did. Practical and tell-it-like-it-is Mary. “It was going to happen sooner or later” she said. These were exactly the words I needed to hear. Sooner or later, life stops and the next journey begins. “But where will he go? What will they do with him?” Yikes, this was a tough question from Isaac. Well, they’ll cremate him and give us his ashes. “Cremate? What’s cremate?” Double yikes. “Well, when you die you no longer feel anything because your soul leaves your body so they, um, they burn the body.” Isaac’s eyes widened but he didn’t seem too horrified. Phew. Next? Call Isaac’s doctor for the cough and sore throat he’s dealing with. Cue a Covid test (it was negative). Cue total misery from more and more allergy issues plus dealing with grief for a pet. Poor, poor kid.

Mom was right, we did do the whole explanation two more times. None of us did much that afternoon, I chose to sit outside with Snippy and watched twirling seeds float down onto his fur and my hair from the silver maple in our side yard. New life showering the old and grey; I have never seen so many maple seeds as I have seen this year. Which ones will make it? Which will live to tell the tale of life under the sun? J.D. had soccer that night and Jorge took him while I stayed home with Isaac, Mom, Dad, and Snip. Later, we had pizza and Snip enjoyed many pieces of sausage from it because, well, yolo.

The next day arrived as I knew it would. Everything felt so heavy. We all hung out with Snip, loving on him as much as we could. When it was time to go, I carried him to say goodbye to Dad. Unaware of what was happening, I explained to him that this was goodbye Snip. “Really? Well, Snip, I’ll see ya! You’re a good dog!” he said as he nuzzled his little head. Next was Mom who has grown quite fond of Snip over the years and has become accustomed to his stinky presence in our home. She bought dog food for the first time a couple weeks ago. I never thought I would see the day. I held Snip up to her to say goodbye, he dropped his paw on her arm. “I know” she said through tears. I held the sobs in as much as I could and carried him to the car.

We sat under the huge maple in the side yard of the VCA, Snip wandered the grounds a little while we waited for the doctor to join us. A technician came out and explained all the “options” we could have. It seems so strange to me that death is a business with basic and luxe packages. I was even asked if we wanted a vial of his fur. As Snip panted in exhaustion from just a little walking around the yard, I knew we had made the right decision. “Do you guys see the rainbow?” Jorge asked. Up above, a little bridge of a rainbow was shining above the tree line. It wasn’t even raining so I’m going to go ahead and say that this was a sign. “They say that when a dog dies, they cross a rainbow bridge into heaven.” I said to J.D. “Wow.” he said, genuinely floored by the fact that magic really does exist. He’s at that age when so much of the magic dies. He needed that rainbow, he really did. Later he told me that it was a sign that the universe was ready for Snip. Magic will live to see another day in our lives🌈

When the vet came out, he explained to the kids that they had a very special dog but that he was old, his heart has a problem that no doctor can fix, and letting him suffer is not fair to Snip. The kids nodded sadly, they had heard this before but I was so thankful to have the real expert explain it to them. “I’m going to give him a medicine that will help him relax and then I will give him a little more medicine to stop his heart. It will all take about 40 seconds so he won’t suffer at all.” The no frills explanation was exactly what the kids needed. The technician unwrapped the catheter bandage as Snip began to squirm a bit, they flushed it, injected the medicine and soon he was asleep. The next dose was given, Snip’s breathing stopped, his tongue stuck out of his mouth. “NO SNIP! NO! DON’T DIE!! NO YOU CAN’T DIE!” Isaac yelled through sobs and a coughing fit, throwing himself onto the blanket next to Snip. I wanted to let them know that the cough wasn’t Covid. Funny how we worry about ridiculous things at the worst moments. We sobbed over Snip’s little body, Jorge hugged us all at the same time. “I love you all.” he said. When we were ready, they scooped up our baby and carried him away. “It hurts to love, doesn’t it?” I cried in J.D.’s arms, bigger than mine now. When did he become a man?

After we came home, I left to pick up a few gifts I had rush ordered for the kids at Walmart — mounted pictures of Snip and stuffed dogs (they had two Snipesque ones for J.D. and Isaac and one that is a purple twin of Maire’s beloved pink Cotton Candy.). I brought them home, maybe a little too soon for these guys because it got them going again. “Can we have the ice cream now?” J.D. asked, knowing I had also picked up treats. Ice cream solves a whole lot, doesn’t it? Ice cream and the beach. “What’s the name of those purple flowers?” Maire asked, pointing at the garden on the side of our yard. “Irises” I said. “I’m going to name her Iris” Maire said, hugging her new plushy friend. Auntie Jan came down and visited, bringing ice cream sundaes and flowers. I recounted some of the events of the past couple days, not really knowing where to start. This was not what I had planned this weekend. Death is such an interloper, trampling on the best intentions and plans.

Last night, after all was said and done, our little family went and visited our besties. It was good to have the kids surrounded by their favorites and it was good for me to be surrounded by mine. Pizza, popsicles, s’mores, and a trampoline. There’s not much more we could ask for except, of course, to have Snip back. A couple times while there, Isaac came and dropped his head on my shoulder from behind. “You feeling sick?” I asked. “Snippy boy” was all he said, letting me know that the sadness was going to stick. Later that night, Isaac asked more questions about Snip’s body, cremation, and the general process after death. “Do they, like, have a full-fledged oven at the VCA?” I didn’t know the answer to that, I hadn’t asked. I love how this kid asks all the things. I explained that cremation is one of the things we do for a pet that has died and that humans typically decide on getting buried in a coffin or cremated. “So, some people get a grave and other people get disintegrated?” Isaac asked. “Ummmmm, yeah?” I said “I guess.” Love this kid.

And so went the tale of our last days with Snip, the very best dog we could ever ask for. He came to us six years ago, on the heels of the worst winter ever. We were a crazy family for him to join and sometimes I wonder if he would have preferred a quieter, calmer bunch. But we loved him and he us. I will miss his little butt wagging like crazy whenever I got home, his particular stench, his nasty breath, his soulful eyes, and gentle soul. “Will I get to see Snip if I go to heaven?” Isaac asked me before bed. “I’m sure you will and I hope I do too.” Not goodbye but see you later, my little love. Though your heart failed your body, it never failed us. We love you, Snip. With all our hearts.

****OK you might need a laugh right now. Maire insisted on bringing the mounted plaque photo to JDs soccer game and then just dropped it on my lap while she went and played. I tried to cover it up but she got mad and made me hold it up. Then I had to explain what happened to the Mom next to me which I think got her a little teary-eyed (Sorry!!). As Andrea says-what a typical Alfaro family moment😂😆🤪