Patience is a virtue...

I think many would agree that change in itself is difficult. And the challenges young people face as they leave high school and a life that has sheltered them from much can be enormous. My foray into the 'adult' world was made a bit more difficult because I had lost both my childhood home and one of my dearest companions. The decision to give my husky, Kiska, away is still one of the hardest choices I live with, but I know it was the best choice for her well-being. As far as my own well-being, I now had to forage into a scary world without her ever-present ear and complete devotion. And that void resonated inside me for over a decade. That doesn't mean that I took every precaution to protect myself and follow the easy path. Oh no. For some reason, I have frequently chosen the 'road less traveled' and I have to agree with Mr Frost. It has made all the difference.

As I look back on the struggles I had during college, I wonder if the lack of a canine companion compounded things. There's no way to know for sure, but I do know that my last year of college was a bit easier. Perhaps it was because I lived on a farm. While they didn't have a dog, they did have plenty of other animals with which I could share my problems. Unfortunately, chickens and goats aren't always keen on listening to people. And though some cats are quite welcome to lend an ear, Maude may not have been the best at it considering she was 22 years old and only seemed to interact with me when she was having grand mal seizures on my bed. But just as things seemed to be settling down, I made yet another crazy decision to cast everything I knew to the wind and move away. Not long after turning 20 and facing the big decision to focus my studies on one field, I chose to move over 1200 miles to Florida. With no car, no job, and nowhere to live and only a couple of suitcases packed with stuff, I set out on my own to a very uncertain world.

It didn't take me long to tick off those three necessities and my life began to settle into a routine. It also didn't take long for me to pine for the comfort of a four-legged, furry friend. Despite my ceaseless desire to welcome a dog into my life, I knew that my lifestyle was not welcoming. I had to work a lot to make ends meet. I spent long days on my feet, working first as a waitress and later as a bookseller. While the idea of a happy, wagging tail greeting me at the door was appealing, I knew that it would be a challenge to give any dog the attention they so rightly deserved. In the end, I decided that perhaps a cat would ease my familial needs. Thus entered a tiny, black kitten I named Indigo, more lovingly called Dingo. She was a sweet cat for the most part. She could be very cuddly, especially when I was eating. And she excelled at cleaning ice cream bowls, except when there was chocolate syrup. I truly did love her and yet she didn't quite fill the hole I had in my heart. Don't get me wrong, I love cats. Growing up, we also had several feline members of our family and I enjoyed their companionship. Each had a wonderful, unique personality that I enjoyed. But I never had the same connection with Shadow, Sam, Whiskey, et al that I had with Maggie and Kiska. In the end, I guess I'm more of a dog person.

I don't want you to think that my life was completely devoid of any canines. I had friends who had dogs. And in 1993, I started dating a guy whose father had two poodles, Gizmo & Tiki. I'll be honest, I had never been impressed with the breed. When I thought of poodles, I imagined delicate dogs with frou frou haircuts and painted nails. <<shudder>> That is NOT how I picture a dog. Though neither Gizmo nor Tiki looked the part, their personalities weren't very canine. Well, Tiki was adorable and she did try really hard to make everyone like her. But Gizmo's attitude overwhelmed both of them. Think of a true curmudgeon, the grumpiest old man you've ever known. Now picture him as a miniature black poodle and you've got Gizmo! He would growl at me even if I so much as glanced at him. Petting him was out of the question. I'll be honest, I was afraid of him. Others found his orneriness amusing, but I thought they were making his behavior worse by encouraging it. My relationship with him remained very strained for the next several years until one fateful, tragic morning. 

We awoke very early to a phone call. My fiance's father hadn't come to work. When they had gone to check on him, there was no answer at the door. We rushed over and immediately heard Gizmo and Tiki barking uncontrollably inside. Our fears were realized when we entered the house. His father had passed away during the night. Though Tiki was a little easier to take away, Gizmo was nearly inconsolable. Finally, we were able to get both of them into the car and I sat there with them while first the ambulance and police came and then the coroner. I remember that Tiki eventually calmed down, but Gizmo continued to bark and remain restless. As I sat there, I worried about what would happen to them. Could we find them a home? Would we have to take them? In the end, it was obvious that they would have to come live with us. Unfortunately, this meant Dingo had to move into the spare bedroom. We couldn't trust her with them or them with her. I tried hard to give her the attention she needed, but I know I should have done more. One good thing was that, for the most part, the poodles were fairly low maintenance. They were both pretty old by the time we got them, so walks weren't as important. Plus we had a fenced backyard, so we were able to let them wander back there without much concern. Gizmo had been my fiance's dog when he was younger, a similar relationship to what I had with Maggie and Kiska, and they had remained close during the time before we took in the dogs. Yet something quickly changed when they moved in with us. Gizmo's attitude toward me did a complete reverse. It wasn't long before he was following me everywhere. If he wasn't sleeping on the couch next to me, he was sleeping at my feet. If I tried to get up quietly so as not to disturb him, he always woke and went looking for me. When I went to bed, he came, too. He would burrow under the covers and then emerge to lay down next to me with his head on the pillow. That was all it took. That grouchy, old pup burrowed his way into my heart, too. Don't think he was completely reformed. Oh no. Though he did allow me to pet him, it was always on his terms. Never try to touch him when he was sleeping. Yet now things were different. That growl that evoked unease in me now made me smile. I took to calling him 'ma bookie', a name I learned from the revamped Star Wars: A New Hope. Jabba the Hut calls Han Solo "ma bookie" which translated into "my boy." (Yes, I'm a Star Wars geek. A subject of a whole other blog.) For over four years, we were inseparable. Though his eyesight and hearing faded, his nose would still tell him where I was. Eventually, he began to have seizures and it quickly became apparent that his desire to please and be with us was much stronger than his body. Again, the decision was made to ease his pain and let him go. I still tear up when I think about him, ma bookie. My sweet Gizmo. He was the third, important canine relationship in my life. I wish I had had many more years with him, but I will forever be grateful for those brief years I was allowed. 

Eventually, I would have no dogs in my life and I felt that familiar emptiness again. It would take nearly another decade and thousands of miles for my life to be filled with more canine love than I could imagine possible.

In the beginning, there were dogs....

Recently, I realized that at the end of this year I will have been "working" my dream job for an entire decade. That's right! Come December 1st, I will have spent 10 years following man's best friend around, often scrambling to keep up, attempting to control them, too frequently yielding to their whims, and pretty much picking up anything that comes out their less attractive ends. Why is this my "dream job", you may ask? Well, to fully answer that I need to start at the beginning... 
For all the difficulties that may have existed, my childhood was very fortunate because my family included many creatures of all shapes and sizes. From bunnies to kitties to goats to horses, my days were filled with critters galore. But it was canis lupus familiaris that held a special place in my heart. In fact, I often felt a closer friendship with our dogs than I did with most people. Two, in particular, I consider to be my dearest childhood friends to this day. 

Maggie & me

At some point in my youth (my mom and sisters could provide years and ages), our family went looking for a new dog. I'm sure we looked at several different breeds, but I know we visited a dalmatian breeder. My sisters and I must have seen 101 Dalmatians on tv which piqued our desires for a cute, spotted puppy. Although the Disney movie had originally come out over a decade earlier, the fervor for the breed had resulted in horrible inbreeding to attempt to keep up with the demand. I remember that the dogs we visited were incredibly high-strung and not desirable at all. Not long after, the decision was made to get a golden retriever. After seeing those fuzzy, little sausages with their sweet temperaments and irresistible cuteness, the decision was unanimous. Thus entered Maggie, my new best friend. I seem to remember that she was 'technically' my oldest sister's dog. One of the purposes was for her to attend obedience classes with Maggie with the aim of showing her at the county fair. And while she did go to those classes, I know that I frequently helped to reinforce what Maggie was learning by continuing training at home. Evidence of this can be seen in this (terribly blurry) photo of us practicing 'heel' in the driveway. (Please forgive my lack of fashion sense. Just look at that adorable pup!) Maggie made only one appearance at the fair. Being the typical golden, she become overwhelmed when the judge approached her. And it was everything my sister could do to keep her from chasing an errant wrapper that blew around in front of her. In the end, I don't think they won a ribbon, but she did succeed in making the judge smile. (Which, in my book, is always worthy of a blue ribbon!) What she lacked in show dog qualities, she excelled in companionship. We lived in the country and visiting friends was difficult because riding bikes on those roads was very dicey. Maggie quickly became my surrogate. We spent hours together outside, running around during the summer and romping in the snow in winter. She kept my secrets and never failed to put a smile on my face. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. Years later, we found a growth on her upper front leg. The vet took a biopsy and we waited for the results. I was sitting at the dining room table one day soon after and glanced down at Maggie laying at my feet. I was alarmed to see the incision gaping up at me like a gruesome grin. She had broken nearly all the stitches. Within an hour of taking Maggie back to the vet, my mom returned alone looking around frantically. She said the vet had sent her home for a bucket. After finding one, she left, leaving me curious about what was going on. When she come home with Maggie, the answer was revealed: a homemade 'cone of shame' on her head. This was a long time ago and if there were e-collars for dogs, they weren't available in small veterinarian offices like ours. As you can expect, the news wasn't good. Maggie had cancer. As I recall, they did try to remove the growth from her leg and she had to keep wearing the bucket as the incision was situated right where her head would rest. One of my favorite photos of my childhood is a picture of her and my grandmother during this time. My grandmother had also recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and in a wonderful gesture of solidarity, she posed sitting next to Maggie on the deck with her own bucket perched on her head. I wish I had it to share. I would have to defer to family members to recall how much longer we had Maggie with us. I know that after the first surgery, the vet found that the cancer was very aggressive and had already begun to spread up her neck. The most difficult decision had to be made and I said goodbye to the closest canine friend I had thus far.

Again, I need my mom's help to remember how much time passed, but soon after Maggie passed I was sitting on the couch looking at the classified section of the newspaper. For those who don't know, the classifieds were today's Craigslist and I remember enjoying leafing through items for sale, items needed, and jobs. I was never looking for anything for myself. It was just something to do. And there in the 'animals for sale' section was a listing for Siberian husky puppies, $100 each. In my mind, that was a ton of money, but I casually mentioned it to my mom. Not thinking anything of it, I went up to my room. Moments later, she came upstairs. "If you'd like, we can go look at those puppies." What?! Seriously?! She thought that it would be nice if I had a dog that was my own. So we went to check them out. I remember there were probably 10 puppies, almost all of them crawling all over our feet, pulling laces to untie our shoes, rolling around, and being insanely cute. But I noticed one puppy in particular who wasn't part of the crowd. She sat outside of the chaos and watched us cautiously. Not only was she not part of the 'in crowd' just like me, but she had two different colored eyes! I had never seen that before and I knew immediately that she was the one for me. She was the only dog I've ever had that came with papers! That's right. Her father was a champion and we had to come up with an official name for her. I can't remember his title, but it had Kamchatka in it. I began looking at names in Russia and stumbled across a name I liked that is technically an island in the Aleutian islands called Kiska. And so we welcomed Kamchatka's Princess Kiska to our humble home! While she still seemed a little demure, she definitely came out of that puppy shell she showed me the first day. Just like Maggie before her, Kiska quickly became my closest friend and confidante. I remember taking long walks with her and telling her all my teenage issues. I would howl to her from my upstairs bathroom window and she would answer back. Although she and Maggie had many similarities, there were some big differences. First off, she never seemed very comfortable being inside for long. While she enjoyed sitting with us, she was most comfortable outdoors. The other big difference was that she couldn't be let loose. I am a little ashamed to admit that we allowed Maggie free reign of the woods around our house. She never went too far and the only trouble she ever got into was the rare times she brought 'gifts' to us. Once, it was a newly born bunny that didn't even have hair. It really seemed like she wanted us to help it, but it was unfortunately too late. Another time, she brought a rather gruesome present, a deer's leg. I don't think any of us went looking for the rest of it. It was difficult to chastise Maggie much as she was a retriever; however, Kiska was a husky. And a husky's job is to run. If we had left her to her own devices, we may have lost her forever. As ashamed as I am about Maggie's freedom, I'm also somewhat ashamed to admit that we kept Kiska tethered in the yard. It was for her protection, though, and she had a long lead. She was never the lone dog in the yard. She even had a dog house, though she never used it. Not even during the winter. I would look out from that bathroom window and my heart would drop because I couldn't see her. She was there, buried in a layer of newly fallen snow. When I hear about people complaining that races like the Iditarod are cruel to the dogs, I know that they've never known a husky. Kiska would pull me forever, if I let her. And she would go for hours if she could. The only thing holding her back was my laziness! As I said, she was the anchor that got me through so much teen angst, but soon our lives would change forever. I was nearing graduation and would be going to college. At the same time, my mom had decided to sell the home in the country and move to one in town. We both agreed that this just wasn't fair to Kiska. She deserved more attention than we would be able to give and she just wouldn't be a good city dog. If she were to get loose, the consequences would be deadly. Reluctantly and with a broken heart, we made the impossible decision to find her a new home. I can't remember if other families came to meet her. I just remember that the family that she left with had a young girl who was around the same age I was when Maggie was my best friend. The connection between Kiska and that girl was pretty immediate and I thought that it would comfort me knowing that this girl would have Kiska to play with and keep all her secrets, just as I had Maggie. I'm sure they told me I could come see her, but I never did. I knew it would be too painful for me and I now know it could have been difficult for Kiska, as well. She and Maggie will always hold a special place in my heart. And soon I would realize that the absence of a dog in my life was truly a struggle for me. It would take over a decade for me to connect with a new canine. And he would turn out to be grouchy, irascible, difficult, and so very dear to my heart.