I’ll never forget the day I woke up, did my daily check on petfinder.org, and saw her cute face looking back at me. I’d been searching for weeks to find a dog I could adopt, filing applications and having no success. I hopped in the car to the shelter and as soon as they let her in the “meeting room”, she wanted to hop up on my lap. That was all it took. I filed my application and the next day, I got the call she was mine. The bad news came when I took her to the vet for a check-up where they learned she had a severe heart murmur. She was seven, but they said with medication, she could live a few months or a few years. Each vet that’s heard her heart, said it was one of the worst they’d ever heard. I accepted that my new friend might not be around long, but year after year, she thrived on.

She lived with me four different places in five years. She got me through some of the lowest points of my life. She made me talk to people I never wanted to talk to because everyone wanted to meet her, especially children who she generally despised (rightfully so). She protected my apartment (with Lily) and so we were the only ones in my building not robbed. She was the most loyal of friends, who hated me every time I left her alone. She was the reason I met Lily. I was taking her for a potty break, when we found Lily standing at the front door, hungry & scared. That meeting turned out to be good for all of us, because she finally had a buddy to hang out with her while I was at work.

My favorite memories of Snippy were in the kitchen. She didn’t like toys (squeakers scared her to pieces), so the best way I found for us to play was tapping my feet in front of her which would make her excitedly tap her feet in return. I loved the sound of her nails going tap-tap tap-tap on the floor. She would start wagging her tail until I did it too long and she just got annoyed. The kitchen was also Snippy’s worst nightmare. The sound of clanging pots would send her scurrying out of the room. Oh, but she wouldn’t turn & run, she would scoot backwards. I’ve never seen a dog walk in reverse so much in my life. The vets were so confused by it. Hilarious.

Less hilarious were the little seizures she would have sometimes. Each time I’d hold her tight and hope this wouldn’t be the *one*. And, sure enough, each time she would hop up as if nothing had happened. Several times, they happened while she was celebrating my arrival home from work. It’s true that no human can match the excitement a dog shows upon your return home, even if that excitement resulted in me feeling guilty about her seizing.

She wasn’t without faults. One morning I looked out my office window and saw her standing at the front door. The hot pursuit of a rabbit had inspired her to dig a tunnel under my fence. At my parents, she would meander down the road, as if she were partaking in a Sunday afternoon stroll with no particular place to go. She was a walking miracle for never getting herself run over. I remember calling her name and getting that classic innocent look back, “I’m just going for a walk, what’s your problem??” It was impossible to stay mad at her.

Though a year has gone by since I’ve seen her and I knew each day could be her last, I’m still saddened to know that sweet girl will never again greet me at the door with that wagging fuzzy white tail. I was in the middle of nowhere hiking on a trail lined with waterfalls, along with Kali, her friend Cecilia, and a little puggle named Marley, when I got the news that Snippy had passed away around 9:30 AM. This May would have marked the 7th year since I picked her up at that shelter. She outlived everyone’s expectations, especially considering she was diagnosed with Cushing’s just before I moved to SF. Our hometown vet labeled her a posterchild of surviving through the illness. She was incredible. She was always under my feet because she never wanted to be more than a few feet away. And, even though she was a terribly sick little thing, she’d never let on. She asked for nothing more than a little scratch behind her ears. Though, over the years, she developed a habit of rubbing her paw on my hand whenever I’d stop petting her. She definitely picked that habit up from her partner in crime, Briece. If only I’d picked up a few of her unconditional love habits. We should probably take more cues from our so-called best friends.


You were the best my little snipmeister, and I’ll never forget you. (And, I’m really sorry for all the unfortunate haircuts.)

Some memories:
Cereal Theft
Missing her when she had to stay with my folks
Meeting the neighbor
Cute story
More cute