Just
a dog, but.........Just
a dog, but.........
Yesterday, we lost a dear friend. His name
was ‘Deejay’, which was short for “Dylan’s Dynamite Junior” (his
registered name with the American Kennel Club). Deejay was a beautiful
russet-red & white Siberian Husky, and at a one-time peak weight of 110
pounds and standing 25 inches at the shoulder, he was an absolutely huge
guy—so big that he exceeded the allowable show-dog standards for the Siberian
breed by a good 2 inches. He was thus put up for adoption as a companion, rather
than shown as the champion he would have been otherwise. That is how we first
obtained Deejay, as a companion for Laika, our Siberian female.
We had great hopes of
Deejay and Laika becoming perfectly bonded, although since we had raised Laika
from puppyhood and had acquired Deejay as a one and a half year old, this fact
augured against that sort of desired bonding. Regrettably, instead of fast
friends, they became the best of enemies…a basically neutral status that
lasted for the rest of Deejay’s life. Ironically, Deejay was smitten with
Laika from the start, although she 
spurned his affections steadfastly. Despite
this, that didn’t keep Deejay from faithfully following her every move in the
park on walks and trying to cover her scent with his, every time she took a
squirt. Even on his last day, on his last walk, the poor guy was still trying to
follow her to fulfill that instinctual urge.
Deejay was not a perfect
dog by any consideration and had the most timid personality for a monstrous
Siberian male that I have ever seen. He was so timid that at first we suspected
he has been abused as a puppy, however, that was not the case, and Deejay came
from a home where he had been raised with other Siberians in an atmosphere full
of love and support. After comparing notes with his original owners (a Siberian
breeder in our area), we learned that his dam had 
also been excessively timid.
Thus, this seems then to have been an inherited trait and not the result of
human influences. I suspect that such genetic ‘tricks’ are more the result
of the sort of intense focus on breeding for show qualities that characterises
the actions of the breeders of highly pedigreed show-dogs today. Somehow, in
their desire to achieve the perfect looking dog, certain basic qualities of
personality appear to fall through the cracks. Deejay seems to have been a good
example of these high aspirations gone somehow slightly off-track—a result of
our unhealthy human obsession with perfect appearance and physical beauty over
more substantial but perhaps less conspicuous qualities.
Deejay was really very
much like a canine counterpart of ‘Ferdinand the Bull’, that well-known
children’s story character who was raised to fight in the bull ring, but
instead simply wanted to sit peacefully in the pasture and sniff the wild
flowers. When we would take Deejay out to walk, he would be so anxious about
strangers that anyone within eyeshot was immediate cause for him pulling away to
head in the opposite direction. This was frequently a source of some
embarrassment, for while the strangers would see in him what appeared to be a
fierce wolf-like creature, the reality was that good 
natured Deejay was more
often scared to death of his own shadow! We simply accepted this fact of life
and tried to avoid strangers as much as possible.
As Laika and Deejay
became adjusted to each other, it soon became clear that Laika was the ‘alpha
dog’ of our family pack—a fact that was probably not helped by our having
spoiled her rottenly from her earliest years. True to his gentle nature, Deejay
calmly accepted his status as the ‘omega dog’ and thus their relationship
continued until Deejay’s demise. Whenever Deejay would try to come over to us
for a little affection, Laika would pounce on him with full fury, as if to say
“Hands off! These are MY people!” The poor guy couldn’t get a paw in
edgewise, most of the time, as a result, but he accepted his lot without
complaint.
All of this was very sad
by our reckoning, of course, as we had envisioned a far more amicable
relationship between Deejay and Laika and had never in our wildest moment of
speculation ever expected such an outcome in the family’s canine pecking
order. However, life in the family pack settled into a pattern after a bit, as
it always does, and at least each member of the group understood his or her
place in the scheme of things.
If this all seems to be
simply an unhappy accounting of less than happy circumstances, let me hasten to
square that impression. For all his nervous 
problems and occasionally mildly
neurotic behavior, Deejay had some wonderful qualities that made him very
special to us. One particularly endearing trait was his extremely amusing way of
‘talking’ to anyone who would listen. For those not familiar with the breed,
Siberians are not prone to frequent barking like most other canine breeds. In
fact they seldom bark at all. Instead, they sometimes enjoy a good howl, but
more often they are known for their delightful tendency to ‘talk’. That is,
they modulate their low-pitched vocalisations in a most amusing manner, such
that it almost sounds like someone talking. Not all Siberians are as naturally
adept at this as Deejay was, for his talking was exceotionally unique and
amusing. The nearest thing I can compare the sounds he made at such times is to
a sort of “worga-worga-worga” articulation, accompanied by lots of mouth and
facial movement (and usually with soulful looks thrown into the mix for good
measure!). As a result, Deejay became ‘the Worga-Worga dog’ to me—chief
among several other pet names I gave him (another was ‘Deejay Dishonest Dog’
for his habit of looking away as he ‘talked’).
We have a little
early-style, bright orange Honda Civic station wagon in the family motor pool
named ‘The Buster’. It wasn’t long before Buster became the dogs’ car,
being perfect for the short haul, around town trips, and great for two Siberians
to sniff the air from at such times. Each day after work I’d come home, put
the dogs in Buster, and head for the local park for their daily walk. At a
particular corner on our way to the park, Deejay would invariably stick his head
out the left rear window, brace himself against the lateral inertia of the turn,
and smile broadly in that manner in which Siberians seem to say “Wow! This is really
great!” Today, each time Laika and I make that journey to the Park without the
big goof, I can’t help but recall how much he enjoyed this daily ritual, with
his big tongue hanging out and ears peaked. It really seemed to be Deejay’s
corner, if such a proprietary statement can be made. I also recall the bemused
stares that would register on the faces of the oncoming traffic queued up to
make a turn there, as they observed this huge ‘wolf’ leaning half-way out of
the small car’s window in the breeze….it must really have been some sight!
Another endlessly
amusing trait Deejay had was enthusiastically taking the lead part in the chorus
whenever we had a family howl. Since I have always had an abiding regard for
wolves, recognizing the shared qualities that Canis Canis and Canis Lupus
manifest, I kept a small library of books on wolves since I enjoy all things
wolfish. Among these resources were a few recordings of wolves in the wild,
having a communal howl at the moon. Whenever I would put such a tape, Deejay
would become visibly alert and throw his head back, letting loose the
grand-daddy of all basso howls. He was almost a virtuoso at this, so before long
all of us (except my wife, who is too practical to get into the reckless spirit
of such inspired goofiness) in the family pack would be howling as if the moon
depended exclusively upon our combined noise to lazily roust itself into the
nighttime sky. To hear him, you’d think such wonderful, deep, throaty tones
surely belonged to some wolfish Akela, some big pack leader with a huge macho
rep to maintain among his female pack mates….but no, they came from good old
mild-mannered, pretty boy Deejay. Shades of his ancestors coming out, doubtless!
Although Deejay rarely
got enough quality time with us for close personal affection (thanks to
Laika’s dogged determination to keep him at a distance from us), in those
occasional moments when she was otherwise preoccupied, Deejay absolutely loved
to have his chest rubbed. It was almost a fetish with him. If anyone tried to
give him the usual, typical ear-rub and head-stroke, he’s soon pull away in
such a manner that your hand would naturally fall to his broad chest, which he
loved to have ruffled roughly. This seemed to be a particular source of pleasure
for him, throughout his life. My sister-in-law would also seem to have been
accorded the special privilege of being able to give him what we called a
‘belly-rub’, for whenever she came over he’d roll over on his back, paws
in the air (all 110 pounds of him!) and let her rub his furry stomach as long as
she wanted. Rarely did he allow anyone else to do this; it was their special
shared ritual, so it seemed, and he loved every second of it.
Deejay was not the
brightest Siberian I’ve ever known and in all fairness seemed to have only
average intelligence for the breed (a breed that is typically known for its
sharp intelligence and instinctive situational awareness). Instead, he was
simply a ‘pretty boy’, a canine ‘Gorgeous George’ type and a natural
ham, 
who instinctively assumed the most photogenic pose conceivable whenever
there was a camera present. This really was a special trait he seemed to have,
for Laika was exactly the opposite: she’d positively disappear the moment
anyone wanted to take a picture of her. As a result we were able to take a good
many pictures of the big lunk—providing ‘Hurricane Laika’ was otherwise
predisposed and not around to chase him off. Perhaps my most favorite photo of
Deejay is one he generously allowed me to take of him wearing my flight helmet,
patiently tolerating the pose with the sort of typical calm ‘Ferdinand the
Bull’ dignity (perhaps it was actually tranquil resignation, but we’ll never
know for sure) he was famous for. This picture resulted in his being known among
my aviation friends as “Major DJ Muttley, USAF”, fearless flying ace and
‘Right Stuff Flight Test Dog!’ If Deejay ever resented this small imposition
on his doggish self-respect, he never showed it, and today it remains my
favorite memory of the big guy.
Although he was a
wonderful fellow in his many ways, his genetic make-up seems to have made him
susceptible to several physical problems that resurfaced sporadically throughout
his life. One of these was recurrent dermatitis. Another was a notoriously
nervous stomach and probable consequent digestive upsets. I am convinced Deejay
was the victim of overly refined breeding, 
the genetic effects of which are a
proven fact of such human interventions in show-dog mating practices.
Unfortunately, as we all know, genetics is the basic ‘Joker’ in the pack of
life poker cards that everyone (and every living creature) is dealt when they
come into the world, and there is no getting around that fact. Deejay also had
to have one of his large front canine teeth removed, due to his having broken it
as a result of chewing on the metal door of his kennel as a pup (so we were
told). This gave him a unique, but not altogether unpleasant look when he smiled
(and he did that a lot, despite his not infrequently unhappy status as Laika’s
spurned paramour). Compensating somewhat for this, Deejay had a beautiful coat
of fur, the typical long outer guard hairs covering his short, fluffy insulating
layer that all Lupus-dogs are born with. And one white spot on the tip of his
red nose, along with a singular white spot of fur amidst the russet coat on his
back. What a guy! Canine beauty marks…
Regrettably, about a
year and a half ago, Deejay started exhibiting a suite of symptoms that seemed
to begin with an odd canine affliction called “Horner’s Syndrome”. This
frequently involves recession of the ocular orbits, weight loss, and a host of
other things. Over the last year, he started progressively losing weight, seemed
to have difficulty clearing his throat, and gave evidence of increasing hearing
and vision losses. This pattern gained in prominence simultaneous with the
emergence of a sort of ‘Alzheimer-like’ air of distraction. The question
then arose as to whether or not he might have had a cerebral lesion or other CNS
disorder as the underlying process. Unfortunately, at the age of 12 years, the
only option other than letting nature take its course appeared to be
tremendously expensive diagnostic tests—any results of which would certainly
not be of any tangible benefit to him on the high edge of his normal life span.
Thus, with increasing
rapidity, poor Deejay started an obviously precipitate decline, as we watched
him waste away in our presence. I am sad to say that Laika, instinctual product
of the natural order that all animals belong to, was unrelenting in her
assertive disdain for him, and that to the last day of his life she would treat
him with her typical accustomed, sometimes nasty, contemptuousness. Deejay, for
his part, lost so much weight that he was finally 
reduced to about half of his
former peak bulk (60 pounds) and it made us extremely sad to witness this huge
guy turn into little more than skin and bones. Most recently, he started to lose
control over his hind-quarters and, once fallen back on his haunches, he
couldn’t even get himself up on all fours again. At such moments his indignant
yelps of complaint and frustration were most heart-rending. His final months
were marked by a vague restlessness, the sort of aimless and unceasing wandering
about (despite his increasing difficulty in so doing) that an Alzheimer patient
manifests, seeming to have no real concept or firm sense of the relatedness of
anything going on about him.
For most of my life I
have been shielded from the sort of intense loss that the death of a loved one
imparts. When my 93-year-old mother passed away several years ago, it made
hardly any impression on me at all, due to the fact that we were never
emotionally close. Conversely, the recent loss of Deejay has had a terrible
impact on me, for Deejay and I were FAR closer to each other than my mother and
I ever were. Since my wife and I have no children of our own, our dogs are as
much family members to us as animals may be in a human grouping.
Two days ago, I finally
felt compelled to make the terrible decision of whether to mercifully end
Deejay’s misery or let nature take it’s often cruel (to human reckoning, at
least) course. Cursed as we humans are by the ‘gift’ of reason, I elected to
take the former path and we brought our beloved old goof-ball to the Vet’s and
held his big clunky head in our arms as he closed those big brown eyes for the
last time. I still cannot yet think of Deejay in any way without getting all
teary-eyed, since despite his imperfections and many foibles, he was a dearly
loved member of our human pack and we shall miss him terribly. It is the first
such deeply felt loss I have ever experienced and while I couldn’t shed a tear
at the death of my own mother, I can’t stop getting all choked up whenever I
think of him.
Isn’t that
interesting? Already a deeply introspective person by nature, this recent rip in
the fabric of my life has provoked me reflect on the subject of what great loss
really means to us human beings and why we grieve so fiercely when a living
creature (be it human or animal) we care so much for leaves us in this manner.
After some thought, I
believe it boils down to proximities: shared experience and interactive energy
exchange on the arduous trail of life (karma?). Any other living creature whom
we spend so much time with, share so many interactions with, and invest so much
care and attention in, becomes so much a part of our emotional ‘life support
system’ (that is, part of our most deeply held core of values and conceptions
about what life is all about) that losing that other congruent source of
catalytic energy is not unlike losing a physical part of one’s own body. It is
that catastrophic in the actual effect, and yet this realisation typically only
comes after the fact, when that valued ‘other’ is no longer there to be made
aware of (ironic and sad as that fact may be) its unique value.
I communicated my
feelings on this subject to an old friend a few days ago, trying to help
alleviate some of the burden of guilt, grief, and remorse that normally accrue
after such losses. My friend responded with a brilliantly comforting thought,
whether based in fact or not. The specific words were, “I am sure that when
Deejay left you, his loving energy stayed close nearby long enough to see to it
that you were OK and safe, before it left to join the vast unknown source from
which all creatures derive and to which they all must inevitably return.”
To a non-religious
individual like myself, that is about as reassuring and as comforting a thought
as any I could have come up with. Good speed, fair winds, and calm blue eternal
skies, Deejay. I’ll miss you more than anyone can imagine, warts, woof, and
all. You may have been just a dog, but….
Peace friends, Doc Boink (August 2004)
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