My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

From the beginning of the Slice of Life Story Challenge challenge, I hoped that as the end of the month grew near I would be ready to let go, in a way, of the wave of loss I feel each time I stop to think about my little dog. Something unlocked inside me when he died, and I wish I could lock it back up sometime soon. A week ago, I started to feel a sense of “fond memory” instead of “fresh loss” as I was writing.

However I knew there were a handful of posts I needed to save for the end of this month. Each one is a memory I know I want to keep, but are also the hardest ones to write because writing them feels so final. This is one of them.

My son was born on December 20, 2013 at 11:11, just before his due date. He was born during a terrible ice storm, which meant we couldn’t leave the hospital for the entire three days I was in labor, and for three days afterward. (It was delightful—but that is another story).

So we brought Jackson home on December 23 (I think) or maybe it was on the morning of December 24 and t Christmas Eve we all went to the annual Moore family party, including Indie.

The party was extremely hard on me, as you can imagine, having given birth just a few days prior. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to go. But that too, is another story.

The real story, right now, is about Indie.

So Brinton, Lily (who was four at the time), baby Jackson, and I survived this party with the entire extended family and were finally ready to go home. It was around 9:00 in the evening - practically the middle of the night for me. I was sleep-deprived and weepy. I had a terrible migraine, and was just completely miserable. I could not wait to get home.

We packed up the baby, the toddler, the gifts, the leftovers, everything. This took forever. Lily kept overheating and taking things back off. I tried to wait in the car while Brinton said his goodbyes but it was a -20F Vermont night and I was just too cold and anxious about having the baby in the cold car, so I went in and out of the house trying to move Brinton along.

Finally, after all this, I got baby Jackson, tiny Lily, and I buckled up in the car. Brinton called to Indie to come. There was no answer, no jingling of dog tags. No barking. Nothing.

The house was searched. More calling into the cold moonlit night. Nothing.

Lily, baby Jackson, and I all piled back out the car, and back into the house. Jackets were removed, the baby needed to be fed, and Lily, by now was having a full blown tantrum — can you really blame her?

The entire family was now in search mode. “When was the last time we saw him? Did anyone let him out? When was that? What about after dinner? Did anyone see him then?”

More than one person thought they had let Indie out before dinner, around 4:00. That much we knew. Nobody had seen him since. As mentioned, the temperature was -20F. We live up on Mt. Mansfield, the highest mountain in Vermont, so live far north and we’re up high in elevation. It frequently gets below zero for stretches of time, especially at night but an entire day of -20 is very cold, even for us.

Convinced Indie must have frozen to death, I began to cry in front of the entire family - which I hated so, so, so, so much. I hid in a bedroom with Jackson and Lily and listened through the windows to everyone calling for Indie. Eventually, after calling and calling for him, we decided there was not much else we could do but go home, and hope that he came to the door after we left. Grandma and Grandpa would keep the lights on for him.

Lily, thankfully, fell asleep in the car on the short drive home. A Christmas miracle - maybe the only time she has ever fallen asleep in a car. I was free to sob as hard as I wanted. As we drove home I searched the road, the snowbanks, driveways, and ditches. I was terrified that I might see his little body frozen on the roadside but couldn’t stop searching. I was convinced that my dog who was also my best friend had died on Christmas Eve, all because I hadn’t checked for him at any point in the night.

It was the longest ten minute drive home and seemed to take all of my physical strength to put Lily in her bed. Isn’t it strange how you remember the smallest things like that — every small thing felt so heavy that night. Finally, still sobbing, I put my pajamas on (knowing I wouldn’t be sleeping — I still had a three day old baby, remember?)

I lay down on the bed on top of the blankets, holding Jackson, exhausted.

Brinton came into the bedroom. “I’m going after him.”

“What do you mean, going after him? You’ll get hypothermia and then I’ll have a dead husband and a dead dog,” I said. I remember saying these exact words.

“No, I won’t. And Lincoln is coming with me.” Lincoln is one of Brinton’s cousins. Lincoln will always do anything we ask.

“Then you’re both going to get hypothermia,” I said. But Brinton was already out the door. So I sobbed some more.

Brinton and Lincoln drove back to the party and headed into the frozen ravine behind my in-laws’ house, a place where the family dogs loved to chase animals. They wore every piece of ski layering they owned - which was a lot of layers, and donned headlamps. Within a minute or two, Indie appeared out of the shadows, nonchalant and smiling, as if to say, “Oh hi. Fancy meeting you here.”

We will never know where Indie was that entire time. Was he hanging out in a neighbor’s shed eating their horse grain (maybe), was he running through the woods all night, chasing animals (definitely possibility), or was he just hanging out in the ravine, doing nothing?

That Christmas was full of danger and relief. My baby was born in an ice storm. My dog ran away, but was found. Out of relief, I cried and cried and cried.