As You Like It: Less Than a Minute

I couldn’t remember the last time Snoopy had lain so quietly in my arms, allowing me to softly stroke his wiry fur. I buried my nose in his ears, which have always been the softest, silkiest part of him.

Snoopy inspired readers across Canton during the first One Town One Book program.

For months now he had been content only when walking with Cheryl or sleeping. The rest of the time he spent endlessly pacing, lapping water to fruitlessly ease his thirst, or whining to be fed. I knew he wasn’t enjoying his life and yet part of me wouldn’t face it.

We’re so very selfish when it comes to people and pets we love. We can’t admit their mortality, which is our mortality. And if we’re the ones who have to decide their fate, it’s unbearable.

Snoopy came to us 13 years ago from the Animal Rescue League in Dedham. Mariel had been volunteering there throughout high school. She kept pleading for a dog and we kept saying no — too much trouble, responsibility, and in the end, heartache. But she was wearing me down even though Shatz warned us that he didn’t want to care for a dog. Mariel gave us the usual assurances, “Dad, I’ll take care of him!” until suddenly one day I realized that I wanted a dog as well.

Not just any dog would do. Mariel wanted a beagle and she was happy to wait for one to come to the shelter. Then one rainy Saturday he did. I got a frantic call, “Mom, he’s here. He’s finally here!” I had no idea who she was talking about until she said, “My beagle is here and two other people want him too so you have to come down now and see him so we can take him home!” The beagle had landed and I was far from ready.

I can still see him — underfed, fearfully barking, not the calmest of companions. I was given five minutes alone with him to decide whether he would spend the rest of his life with us. Mariel’s pleading eyes told me the answer.

They told us at the shelter that someone had brought him in from the street so they had no background on him, but he was a good-tempered dog with no aggressions and had been well taken care of. They guessed his age to be about a year and a half. During the next few weeks we would discover that he was housetrained, that he didn’t howl (thank goodness), and that he was good with children. But cuddly he wasn’t. He would sleep next to you only if he felt like it, and he definitely wasn’t into licking anybody’s face.

We discovered what it was to walk a beagle — a dance: two steps forward, sniff, three steps back, sniff, a brief trot, sniff. He could spend 15 minutes on one blade of grass. We also realized that he hated most other dogs. Every walk was fraught with tension. Would it be a quiet stroll or would he do battle with every canine that dared come into our path? He had a running feud with all the dogs on our block. Even inside he could smell them pass and he would dash from window to window howling his protests. As for squirrels — he showed them no mercy, chasing them up our backyard trees.

But he could run when he wanted to. My favorite memories of Snoopy were his racetrack sprints around our house. He would fly, all four legs straight out, ears flapping, racing the wind like a greyhound. Free. He was my Pegasus.

He adored the girls and their husbands Matt and Dan. When they came home he would throw himself on them crazed with happiness for about five minutes. Then he would return to his normal nonchalant self. When they left he would lie at the top of the stairs staring at the door, waiting for them to come back. I often felt like joining him.

Cheryl, our friend, neighbor, and loyal dog walker adopted Snoops into her family. He had two homes, two places where he could beg for treats. One winter Cheryl bought him and her dog, Holly, matching down jackets. They would prance along, she in pink, he in brown as if they owned the street. And they did.

The years raced by and he grew grayer and slower. He crept up the stairs one at a time and let the squirrels run in the yard without comment. He barked less at other dogs. I watched him struggle with his breathing and with his attempts to climb on the couch. But I somehow always thought he’d be around forever. After all, beagles have been known to live until they’re 20; he still had plenty of time.

And then he didn’t. And I knew that his life was a struggle instead of a joy and he seemed to ask me how much longer he would have to keep going. Steve and I found ourselves in a place that we never imagined — in a small room holding onto our pup pretending he was asleep. In less than a minute he was gone.

My Snoopster, I know you’re somewhere chasing squirrels, barking at dogs, keeping tabs on your girls and us. There are endless treats and woods to get lost in and nobody tugging on your leash. And you’re definitely racing the wind, legs straight out, ears flying in the wind.

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Posted by Joan Florek Schottenfeld on Feb 18 2016. Filed under As You Like It, Featured Content, Opinion. Both comments and pings are currently closed.