Dog

Joy is a Four-Legged Word

A couple of months ago, I shared the grief my family and I had in the passing of one of our family dogs – Beastie, the Alaskan Malamute.  Her passing left us as a one-dog household, with our Shepherd – Bear.  When I say my family was in mourning over the loss of Beastie, I include Bear in that statement.  He looked for her everywhere, at her food bowl, sniffing her harness and leash, and her favorite resting and sleeping places within the house and in the outside kennel.  He literally moped around and wasn’t his usual exuberant self.  He was sad and depressed without a friend and playmate.  Not only that, but he also wasn’t really eating, either.

It took us less than a month to realize that Bear needed a companion, or he would waste away and we would lose him, too.  Although Bear is a Shepherd (how we came to adopt him into our family is a story for another time), we are partial to the sled dog breeds and we always rescue our family pets, so we contacted the rescue group that gave us Beastie. 

They remembered Beastie and were sad to hear of her passing but were happy that we were ready to adopt.  With the help of the adoption coordinator, we were able to meet a young, female Alaskan Malamute with Bear and the two hit it off right away.  We now have a new addition to our “pack”. 

Please meet Tika, our two-year-old Alaskan Malamute.  She’s what we call a mini-mal because she is at her full-grown size and only weighs about 70 pounds.  Most female Malamutes get closer to 100 pounds. 

She does have some Beastie-like behavior, but she is definitely her own personality.  For one thing, she is the most vocal dog I have ever met.  She “woo-woo’s” us constantly, sometimes to the point where we can’t even hold a human conversation in the same room with her, she is that persistent and loud.

All in all, she’s a perfect fit.  Bear is now back to his usual, excitable self with his new playmate and friend, Tika.  Tika now has a loving home to call her own.  Joy fills our home once again.  What more could we ask for?

 

Grief

Grief. Five letters. Such a simple little word that has such an emotional impact. This past Saturday we said goodbye to our beloved dog, Beastie. We rescued her nine years ago when she was two years old from an Alaskan Malamute rescue group. At eleven, she had lived a long life. She lived a dignified life. She lived a full life. Most of all, she lived a love-filled life.

I thought I was prepared. I knew I would be sad. I knew I would cry. A lot. I did not know that I would be hurt, in the physical sense, as my heart broke in the spiritual sense.
Beastie was MY girl. Never mind that my husband took care of her primary needs, feeding and watering her. She appreciated that, but it was me that she chose. I was the one she came to first thing every morning and I was the last person she saw before going to sleep every night. Going to bed last night was a gut punch and getting up this morning was a left hook to my heart all over again.

Time heals all wounds; I’ve heard it said. I suppose that’s true. In the coming days and months, I’ll get used to not having her head under my hand as I walk through the house, her by my side. I’ll get used to not having to “Beastie-proof” the house anymore, because she isn’t here to chew on random household items we leave out. I’ll get used to not having her nudge me as I’m blow-drying my hair in the morning, looking for her ear-scratches. But I will never forget the pawprints she has left on my broken heart.