To the editor:
When I was 8 years old my mom gave my sister and me a puppy for Christmas. He was a border collie mix with white socks on his feet and a white tip on his tail so we named him Tippy.
We used to get a lot more snow then than now and usually during our Christmas break from school, my dad would call the town office in Mapleton and hire their big V-plow to come in and push the snow back in our yard. When this happened we would end up with 10- to 15-foot snow banks to play on. A couple days after they came and did the yard, it snowed and we had perhaps six inches of new powder on the ground.
That afternoon, sis and I took Tippy outside to play. I climbed to the top of the bank and called Tippy by name and he started to climb that snowbank to get to me. Puppies don’t like to be left alone when their “kids” are outside with them. Tippy finally made it to the top of the bank after seemingly working his little heart out to do so.
At that point I went down the bank and stood on the level looking up at him. Not liking this one bit, he yelped and started down too. The further he made it the faster he seemed to go. When he hit the level and his front feet tried to stop his momentum, his front legs buckled and he went head first, or maybe I should say nose first, in the powdered snow and all I could see was a huge cloud of powder going everywhere.
You can imagine how humorous it was to see him come out of the snow sneezing and shaking his head with us looking on and laughing at seeing two black eyes and a little black nose among the white on his face.
I spent a lot of years with that old dog and two days before I came home from Navy Boot Camp, Tippy went to where ever it is they go for eternity. Now I look at our chihuahua and think of those days.
