My Dog Died (and then we got a snake)

This is a happy story, nearly all the way through. No hankie needed, I promise. (And stay tuned for the snake.)

First, the dog. Sophie, a Yorkshire terrier was eleven. She died in Kodiak in the fall, before the snow fell. I wasn’t there when she passed. Which was a mercy. I loved her. She had many loves besides me. She loved chasing weasels out at fish camp. She loved riding in the skiff, sticking her nose in the air like dogs do out of car windows.

 But her favorite activity was kayaking.I never intended for her to come with me.

The first time I pushed off our beach on Harvester in a kayak she swam after me so far, I knew she would drown if I didn’t pick her up. I’ve tried other times to push off the beach silently, before she knew I was gone, but it never worked. She always swam after me. I gave up. We were a kayaking pair. But she always fell in. Which meant, though, I always returned soaking wet because she always fell in. Sometimes multiple times, necessitating dramatic water rescues. But she was worth it. I loved her deeply. (I will write another time on this question: will I see Sophie in heaven?)

We even had matching haircuts once . . .

Eleven dog-happy years were over. Now we are pet-less.  What now? This:

 Oh, youngest son, you want a snake for Christmas? A boa constrictor? An albino boa constrictor?

 I was not opposed. My last experience with a snake was positive. Two years ago a python in Botswana had not only not bitten or suffocated me, but rather had artfully re-arranged my hair. A snake? Why not?

I had no idea, however, about how hard it would be to get a snake from Florida to Alaska.

To ship, the breeder wanted the temps to be above 25 degrees. He would ship the baby creature in a box with heat packs that would last 48 hours. Shipping overnight priority, we could get it in less than 48 hours.

We waited seven weeks for the weather to warm. And, we needed weather that wasn’t stormy, when planes would be grounded. Finally, here in February we had a window.

 Meanwhile we got ready. We were given an enormous 6’ terrarium that took five guys to carry in. We ordered heat lamps, heating pads, hidey hole. We were set.

  The baby snake shipped Thursday morning, was supposed to arrive Friday late afternoon. It didn’t. It made it to Anchorage and there baby-snake would now sit through the entire weekend in his box, heatless. FedEx planes would not deliver to Kodiak until Monday.

  I was sure, if he ever made it in, we’d be picking up a dead snake. My son was sad. I felt like a horrible mother. Somehow this had to be my fault.

I got on the phone, on Facebook, on prayer. People in Kodiak were doing everything they could to help, because that’s what Kodiakans do. Messages were flying back and forth on my phone all day, even Saturday night while I sat in the movie theater with my husband and son watching “1917.” I had to sneak. No one wanted to see me texting in the middle of a war. But it was strange, too. While horrendous numbers of people were dying onscreen, and the life of the hero and 1600 soldiers was at stake, I was glued to my phone trying desperately to save the life of a——- snake.

  And we prayed. I didn’t ask for prayer, but all these friends who love God’s creatures as much as I do were praying. I couldn’t believe it.

  But none of our efforts worked. No interventions were possible. We could only wait.

Today the package arrived. We drove out to the airport (our third time) for the pickup. My stomach was in knots. My son’s too, though we didn’t talk about it. The FedEx man handed us a little box. This was it? This smaller-than-a-shoebox box?

 We drove it home. Knifed it open. Tremulously unwound the bag, expecting a limp body. Here’s what happened.

He was not just alive, he was on-fire alive, giddy to be out of his box and enamored with his new digs. How can we feel such joy from a snake?

 My son tells me now he’ll grow to 8 feet. (Did he tell me this before?)

I’m going to ignore that right now and just marvel at how generous people are, how cunningly God’s creatures are made, and what a joy to share this earth with 8.7 billion different kinds of animals.

 Do you know? Each one does all that God has put in their thumping animal heart to do.

And they do it well, so boldly and so thoroughly, they are never not praising God. Simply by living, flying, breathing, swimming and slithering they dance the dance and speak the language they’ve been given.

They delight you, they love you and you love them back. Entirely.

“But now ask the beasts, and they will teach you;
And the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
Or speak to the earth, and it will teach you;
And the fish of the sea will explain to you. 

Who among all these does not know
That the hand of the Lord has done this,
In His hand is the life of every living thing,
And the breath of all mankind?

(Yes, another dog would have been cuddlier———but  AMEN anyway.