I never knew what it
was like to have a friend who was always by my side, who chose me over everyone
in the room, who was never fickle, whose friendship I never questioned — until
I met you.
Out of all the dogs in the animal shelter, you were the one. I was there to look at a litter of black labs who were spastic and hyperactive, not even noticing I was in the room. But you noticed. As I sat on the floor of the shelter trying to get one of the labs to interact with me, I felt your eyes on me. I turned around and saw you sitting patiently wagging your tail, begging me to ask to see you. I asked one of the shelter employees what the story was with you. She told me you had just been returned to the shelter after your first family decided they didn't want you. I looked at you and couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't want that adorable sweet face. When they opened your cage, you
gently walked up to me, crawled in my lap, looked up at me with your big brown eyes,
and peed all over me. Claiming me as yours, me claiming you as mine.
I called you by so
many names. Yashie, Fluffy Butt, Captain Fuzzy Butt, Keta-Pants, Yasha-Roo,
Snow Monkey, Snugglelufogous, Keta-Lips, Yasharooni, and Yaya Toure, but, above
all, you will always be my one and only, sweet Yasha Keta. Named after Yasha
Island, a tiny speck of an island south of Admiralty.
"She's a
husky", someone told me. "She won't like to swim or play
fetch." You proved them wrong and loved to do both.
You loved the snow
and even at twelve years old, you'd turn into a puppy with the each snowfall
as you rolled in it making snow dog angels and snow tunnels. I love that
it snowed your last night on earth giving you a chance to walk through the
pristine white and letting it stick to your shiny black nose as you looked up
towards the sky one last time.
You loved salmon,
whipped cream in the can, and vanilla ice cream. But you hated men who wore
berets, but then again, who doesn't? You never let me pee alone, even learning
to open closed bathroom doors with your secret opposable thumb to keep me
company while I sat on the toilet.
You were my guardian
for the birth of both my babies, barking at me to let me know the first one was
on the way! You cried a mournful cry when I had
complications following the second one, your cries matching mine, knowing I was
in trouble. You were with me every step when I battled cancer, nuzzling your
nose to mine when I'd lie in bed for days after chemo treatments.
You protected me with
a fierceness to be matched by none. You saved my hide from harm more than once,
and I'll never forget what you did for me, jeopardizing yourself to help me.
You lived to
protect me, Lena and Aurelia -- and even Cayo.
You saw me through
heartbreak and some of the worst times in my life.
Your steadfast love
kept me going with your fluffy body acting as a pillow to cry on. You often
made me stop and breathe when I'd feel my world slipping out of my control. You
were my first zen master, teaching me to slow down and enjoy the moment. You
really had that nailed and I still think you could have been the first ever dog
yoga teacher or at least have led guided meditations.
And oh boy could you
smile like no other dog has ever smiled before! And your dancing ability? Off the charts! You LOVED to dance. You'd put your paws in my
hands and we'd dance to your favorite music, mostly ABBA and The Fables. You
had the best moves always putting mine to shame.
I know you thought I
was crazy when I brought that Belizean stray home. But if you had seen her living on the streets starved and getting abused, you would have rescued her too. I know you tried to
teach her the ins and outs of being an Alaskan dog and she still hasn't quite got it, but your patience with
her was unwavering. At least you were able to convince her
she didn't need to wear that silly sweater all the time.
I realize she's
aloof and slightly senile, but I know her heart is breaking today too.
She's currently
snuggling with your hedgehog toy that you've had since you were a puppy. She
never touched it while you were alive out of respect for you. But today she’s snuggling with it and not trying
to eat it, which says a lot for the dog who eats everything.
I always told you I'd
never let you suffer, and I held to those words. I also used to tell you I was
going to get you stuffed and mounted like they did to "Rowdy" on that
TV show Scrubs, but I'm not going to do that.
Instead, I'm always
going to remember that feeling of that one little spot where your floppy ears
met the side of your head, creating the most velvety soft downy fur that even
the Velveteen Rabbit would covet. They were the last thing I kissed goodbye
before I wrapped your fuzzy body in your fleece blanket. But that’s not how I want to remember you. I'm
going to remember your smile and your big brown eyes, and how no matter what,
you were always glad to see me.
So many people loved
you and wanted to say their goodbyes. You were a special dog, and I'm not just
saying that because you were mine. You just had that thing about you that made
people love you. Maybe it was your smiley and kind face.
Maybe it was your
floppy ears. Perhaps it was your intelligence and
your ability to make everyone around you calm and happy. You just were like no
other.
Even in your illness,
your priority was me. You waited for
me to get back from my work trip, I know you did. You knew I was sad and you stayed close to me,
watching me intently, resting your head on me looking up at me with those concerned
eyes wondering what you could do to make me feel better.
I tried to hold it
together for you, but sometimes the grief was too much.
You were the first
dog to come into my life and you're the first one I've had to let go of.
Thank you for picking me in that shelter.
Thank you for teaching me to be a better person, showing
me unconditional love and loyalty, teaching me to breathe, and taking care of
me the last twelve years. Thank you for waiting for me to come
home before you went on your final walkabout.
This time, I won't
be worried about you not coming back home, and I'll rest easy knowing you are
safe.
Not having you
constantly as my shadow is going to take a lot to get used to. But as I sit
here in your absence, your tufts of fur are still gently rolling past me on the
floor like downy tumbleweed. A gentle reminder of a great dog and best friend.
Enjoy this walkabout my sweet friend, you deserve to run free and find many
more streams with rotting salmon.
A few of my favorite Yasha pictures.
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| Quite possibly the cutest puppy ever, 2004 |
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| In Haines with Zimovia and Chomley, 2004. Those cats were such assholes to Yasha as a puppy. |
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| October 2016 Selfie |
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| Yasha's secret hidey-hole in the backyard, 2012 |
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| Seriously....that smile! 2012 |
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| Smiling selfie, 2015 |
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| A girl and her dog. Yasha and Lena 2014 |
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| Shorty after we brought home the Belizean, 2015. Yasha was not overly amused by this addition. |
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| Beach picnic in front of my work, Yasha guarding the girls (and the pizza), 2015 |
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| Happy 11th Birthday! 2015 |
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| Oh those eyes and soft fluffy ears. 2017 |
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| Yasha and me on her 12th Birthday weekend at Blue Mussel cabin. September 2016 |
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| Watching our girls play, Blue Mussel cabin birthday weekend |
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| Happy Mud Face, Blue Mussel 2016 |
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| Morning coffee and contemplation ritual. Every day, last twelve years. |
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| Lena and Yasha, 2009 |
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| Oh we were once so young! 2007 |
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| Yasha meets Aurelia, 2009 |
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| Lena practicing her vet skills on the extremely happy patient, 2009 |
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| Aurelia, the animal whisperer, 2010 |
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| Yasha and her best friend and neighbor, Dude, 2015 |
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| Quite possibly the only time Yasha was not smiling, 2005. |
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| Haines, 2006. Yasha was always leery of my parka. |
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Christmas, 2007
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| The day I got back from my work trip, March 9, 2017 |
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| The day before. Still wanting to eat smoked canned salmon. Of course I let her eat it. March 11, 2017 |
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| Last picture of Yasha. Taken the night before. We sat by this fire all evening sharing memories. We both knew this was our last chance to snuggle and tell each other how much we loved each other. She ate whipping cream for dessert after this picture was taken. March 11, 2017 |
