The First Snow

The cold, brisk air of last night was carried off by the sunrays in the early morning hours but the snow that blanketed the park remained. It was the first snow of the winter. It started its magical descend just around midnight, like a thief in the dark, silently, when everything was quiet and no one expected it.

I was unaware of it as well when I woke up to Nina’s gentle pleads in the morning. Just as she had done many times before, she would put her little furry head on my bed and squeal in a plaintive way, begging me to wake up and take her outside, because, as her puppy eyes would say, she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. She was still a puppy at the time, not even a year old, but we already mastered our own way of communication and understood each other perfectly.

I got out of the bed, still half asleep since it was just twenty or so minutes past dawn, but when I moved the curtains the sense of surprise and joy washed over me as I saw the whiteness of the new snow, hiding the cold pavement, frozen dirt and bare treetops under its pristine surface. It was untouched. Pure and beautiful. The only tracks left on its surface were a branch-like traces of a bird, probably curious to test out what this new fluffy thing was.

“Hey, Nina, it’s the first snow of the year.” I said excitedly, but she just looked at me and barked, expressing her full discontent with my taking too long to get up and get dressed.

“Fine, fine, we’re going.”

She couldn’t see what the outside looked like because the apartment window was too high for her. I knew that, of course, and couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of her reaction when she sees the snow for the first time.

We decided not to take the elevator and ran down the 3 flights of stairs till we reached the cold, grey building entrance that opened to the park. On a usual day, Nina would sprint out of the corridor and onto the grassy field, but this time she stopped in her tracks. She was standing there at the edge where the building ends and outdoors begin. She was frozen in the spot, but it was the bewilderment, not the cold, that hypnotized her. I could almost hear her thoughts. What happened to the park? What is this white thing, and why is it everywhere?

I was observing her, bemused by her sense of astonishment, partly wishing I could experience such feeling of new and discovery, but the firsts only happen once.

Nina looked at me inquisitively, then returned her gaze at the snow, then back at me.

“It’s okay girl,” I squatted next to her, petting her protectively, “it’s snow, it’s safe, you’ll love it, go check it out.”

She gave me one more look then carefully approached this mysterious white layer, moving her paws slowly, resembling more a cat than a dog. A couple of sniffs, two or three licks, a muffled growl, and she mustered the courage to put her paws in it. Much to her surprise though, her front paws did not rest on the surface but rather fell through several inches of the white mass which instantly prompted her to pull her legs back onto the dry surface and let out a single, but ferocious, bark at her “adversary”.

“Haha, don’t worry, look.” I took a couple of steps onto the snow to reassure her that everything is alright. The air was still, and the snow-covered park looked like a theater stage, almost fake in its peacefulness and perfection. I started walking backwards, calling her all the way.

Despite the initial hesitation, her next attempt was everything but slow and calculated. This time she decided to risk it and flew out of the cold, leaden corridor into the brightness of the morning glow with determination and trust. Trust that I would never have called her unless it was completely safe.

She ran and ran until ending up so deep in snow that nothing but her head and bushy tail were sticking out. She stopped, but her eyes shone with elation. She loved it. She loved it so much that it was only then that she remembered why she wanted to go out in the first place. She was a personification of joy, of the unbridled freedom. That first day we stayed outside for hours. I would watch her jump up and down like a snow fox hunting prey. I would watch her run herself to exhaustion and chase after snowballs ever disappearing when they hit the ground. I would watch her and feel my own world get richer by her energy.

Ever since that moment running and playing in the snow was her favorite thing. She could do it for hours and would refuse to go back inside until she was practically frozen stiff. And I would always let her. No matter how much it infringed on my own schedule at times, I just couldn’t bring myself to take that joy away from her.

It must have been something in her blood to enjoy the cold so much. Nina was a mixed breed, a cross between a cocker spaniel, golden retriever, and an unsung hero, as was eloquently put by her vet.

It’s been 4 winters since she passed away at the age of 15, but every new snow still reminds me of that day so long ago and I can almost see her cocker spaniel tail zipping through the newly formed layers like a land shark, refusing to stop.