Samantha Dawn

Ryan S

Today, we said goodbye to a beloved member of our family—our sweet, sassy, and forever loyal Samantha Dawn Snyder.

Sammy joined us when she was just 8 weeks old—a tiny, precocious peanut with eyes full of mischief and a heart already bursting with love. We were a newly blended family at the time, still figuring it all out. But Sammy? She knew exactly who she was—our missing piece. That first week wasn’t easy. She came home with kennel cough from the shelter, but with a little love (and a lot of vet bills), she bounced back—proving early on that she was a fighter. From there, she flourished into an extra kid in the family—our eighth child in every way. Sammy loved her babies—all seven of them. She cuddled them, snuck their Halloween candy (including a gum incident we won’t forget), and always made sure each one knew they were deeply loved. She celebrated every milestone with us—watched every graduation, greeted every homecoming, and never quite understood that her “kids” had grown up. To her, they were always her kids.

She loved playing catch and chasing sticks, especially if it involved water. Oh, how she loved water. She’d jump into the pond without hesitation—and Dad would have to go in and get her because she had no intention of coming out.

Sammy had a special gift for being underfoot in the kitchen at just the right moment to catch a dropped morsel. She was a master food scout and kitchen shadow.

She absolutely adored her Grandma Jodie and Grandma Joy, who both spoiled her rotten in the very best ways. She looked forward to every visit, especially the homemade puppy meals from Grandma Jodie and sharing cereal or other tasty goodies. Those moments of love and care were part of what made her life so full and rich.

But if she loved her grandmas… she worshipped her dad, Ry. The bond they shared was unshakable. She followed him everywhere, loved to run and play stick with him, and most of all—cuddle. She was his shadow, his buddy, his girl.

As she aged, Sammy took on a new role: caretaker. She’d sigh dramatically and usher us all to bed if we stayed up too late—her way of keeping the pack in order. She took care of us right up to the end. Today, Sammy crossed the rainbow bridge, and there’s an ache in our hearts we can’t quite put into words. Our home feels quieter. Emptier. But her presence is still everywhere—in the memories, the stories, the love she gave so freely.

You were one of us, Sammy girl. You are one of us.

We’ll see you again someday. Until then, run free, swim hard, chase sticks, and know that you were—and always will be—so very loved.

We love you, Sammy. Forever.