My first dog was about the time I started walking. My family had had dogs before I was born, and I've heard wonderful stories of these fur-babies, but making my own memories with my fur-sis is irreplaceable. She was a Siberian Husky puppy. They named her Nakiska, Nikki for short. We grew up together. When I would come home from school after a bad day, she would sit and listen to me vent. From kindergarten through high school, she was there, loyal and loving.
When I was 3, we moved from our home in town to some family property a couple miles outside of city limits. There was plenty of room outside for Nikki to run, so my Dad rigged a zip line dog run for her. Being a Siberian Husky, she needed the exercise and especially during shedding season, my mom would not have all the dog fur in the house. Nikki had a nice big dog house for her to escape the elements, but she loved sun bathing in the mid afternoon in the middle of her dog run.
Being the only dog I really knew, I couldn't compare her to any other. She was the best in my mind, and spoiled, too! Every day, I'd give her a milk bone. I loved watching the ever so gentle way she took it from my hand and tenderly ate it. She only knew a couple of tricks. Sit, Shake, Other Paw, and Lay Down. She had to do every trick before I gave her the milk bone. After her last trick, I'd offer her my hand with the bone and she would stay in a sit position, outstretch her neck with her mouth open an inch. Her mouth would slide over the end of the bone and she would look at me and slowly and gently bite the bone with just enough force to hold it on her own. Then she would gently pull it from my grasp. After biting the bone in half, both pieces would fall to the ground. Her focus shifted to one half, biting that piece into two more manageable pieces. She would then eat those two pieces one at a time before returning to the second half. The process repeated until the big pieces were gone. Then there were the crumbs which she sniffed and licked until all was gone. It was such a tidy tender process; I'll never forget it.
I also remember hot summer days when Dad would be sitting on the porch drinking an ice cold Bud Lite. Nikki would lay next to him watching the beer can. She always hoped for a taste of the fizzy beverage. Every once in a while, Dad would cave and cup his hand and give her a few fizzy licks. She absolutely loved it.
And I had my hand in spoiling her with people treats. On grocery days during the summer, mom and I would stop at McDonalds for a Happy Meal. I would always save a couple french fries for pup.
And on occasion, after dinner, Mom would tell me to take out the leftover gravy and give it to Nikki. Usually I'd just pour it on her kibble, but every once in a great while, I would let the gravy harden and mold it into a round blob and stick a dog bone in it like Nikki's very own gravy cake. She LOVED that.
I loved her, as I suspected she loved me. She wasn't the most loyal of dogs. We couldn't let her off the leash too often, and I suppose that's due to her having been an independent outside dog. She didn't have 100% human interaction. My family and I were the only people she knew, and we weren't with her 100% of the time. Now, in my adult life, that is one thing I regret, though I had no control over it.
All I was able to do was spend time with her after school, or after my homework, or on the weekends. During the summer, I would hang out with her in her dog house, talk and play, go for walks around the property, help my brother give her baths, and help brush her winter coat out. In the Spring, she lost half her bulk in fur. It all died and turned white. She looked like a molting bird. It was impossible to get it all out in one sitting. Her skin would get sensitive before it ever looked like you made a dent in the dead fur, yet a grocery bag would be full of brushed out fur.
One very fond memory I have of Nikki was the time she alerted me to an opossum with rabies. I was playing on my tree swing; Nikki was on her zip line and all of a sudden she started straining against her line, jumping up and down, and whining. At first I thought she just wanted to come play with me, but she kept at it, and it struck me as odd, so I stopped swinging and turned around, and about 20 yards behind me was an opossum. It was growling and would stagger closer to me and stop for a minute, then stagger closer and stop. I stood on the swing and started screaming for my Dad's attention. He came out on the porch and saw the little beast and went back inside for his rifle. If it hadn't been for Nikki, who knows how much closer it would have gotten to me before I noticed it. It could have bitten me. I don't remember how old I was, but I was still in grade school at the time.
She was a great dog. My whole life growing up, I swore to myself I'd never have a different breed. She died the fall after I started my senior year in high school. She had been going downhill for a while. For a couple of years before she died, every time I left the house, I wondered if I'd be coming back home to find out she had died. Mostly, it was just her old age showing through. She slept out in the sun a lot, and I would look out and make sure her chest still rose and fell. She didn't do her crazy run up and down the dog run as often, if at all. The fur on her face started to gray. Her joints started to stiffen with arthritis, or Hip Dysplasia - common to most large breed dogs. (Though I wouldn't call her large breed weighing in at 30 lbs.)
We took her to the vet to get some pain medicine for her. We didn't have the heart to put her down in her last few months, and the vet told us the pain meds would help her a lot. We kept her inside a lot of the time as the weather was getting colder and wetter outside. She slept a lot, but while awake, she seemed happy to be near us. I took her out on short walks, but it wasn't long before she was lagging behind me on the leash. It was hard for her to walk. It was hard for me to see her that way; I remembered the days we'd walk around and she would literally pull me while running. I would travel greater distances in less steps with her pulling me mid stride.
She died during the night on October 11, 2003.
It's strange the tiny details we remember about loved ones lost, including pets. Even now, almost 7 years after her passing, I distinctly remember her red collar, her blue leash, the way she gave me the crazy eyes when she saw me with a treat, the way she jumped up and down when we came home, and the softness of her curved fluffy tail. I like to think she had a good life with us, though in my adult life, I know it could have been better if she had been an indoor dog. A part of me regrets not spending more time with her, training her, and socializing her, but living out in the country there's less people - beautiful and serene as it is - it was hard for me as a kid to be in places there were neighbor kids and more activities.
One thing is for sure, she will always be my first dog, and she - as well as the Siberian Husky breed - will always have a special place in my heart.
0 comments:
Post a Comment