Maska is gone. The definitive diagnosis was adenocarcinoma, which had already spread from his pancreas to his liver. There was nothing I could do but let him go and end the pain. I thought you might like to something about him, although these few words don't begin to cover what a wonderful dog I had the pleasure to live with these last almost 8 years.
He had been returned to the shelter by a family that thought he was stupid, saying that he only knew his name and the sit command. At the time, his name was Jack. He was about 2 ½, a large, un-neutered, muscular, quite striking, hound. The animal control officer who had possession of him is a friend of mine. One morning, she, my late fiancé and I had planned to have breakfast together. We had stopped at her home, for a reason long since forgotten, but she had him at her house that day, instead of at the shelter, and I was immediately struck by how handsome and dignified looking he was. I do remember asking, “What’s his story?” That’s when she explained that he had been picked up as a stray, was adopted out to a single woman, but then sent back to her because the woman’s boyfriend didn’t like the dog (no one since has been able to understand why anyone would not love this dog). I walked over, sat on her couch, and soon had a big hound head in my lap, and as I looked into the brown liquid eyes, the slow hound wag of a tail began. It marked the beginning of our life together. It turned out that this dog didn’t particularly bond to anyone special, though he seemed to have chosen me, which amazed my friend. Wonder of wonders, he also liked Mike, which amazed her even more, because the other man had disliked the dog because the dog didn’t like him. That kicker was – my friend told me that the dog was fearful of men, yet he had marched right up to Mike and laid his head in his lap, too. And, so, this lover of herding dogs, who swore she would never own another hound after Miss Mako, took another hound home.
On our first walk together, he tried to mount me. I was beginning to second guess my decision! After all, who wants to play piggy back with a 70 pound hound? I came back from the walk and called the vet to make his neuter appointment sooner rather than later. I also found out that the dog wasn’t quite house trained, but Mike was the best house trainer ever, so it wasn’t long until both those problems were “fixed.”
Now, Jack isn’t a bad name, but it didn’t really fit this dog. He was very fearful at first, and I decided to give him a name that was associated with strength, so I chose Maska, which means “strong,” as a name he could grow in to. He did.
His previous owner thought was stupid. Nope. Not stupid, just independent, like a lot of hounds. With me, he learned all his obedience skills very well, and could soon sit, down, stay, leave it, and come with the best of them (and “come” is not easy for hounds). Next, he learned some tricks. The best day of all was when I taught him to weave through my legs, and realized that he was ducking as he went through. I never really knew if he didn’t want my crotch scraping on his back, or he didn’t want to risk dumping me over, but I assumed the latter and thought what a good, smart boy he was for doing that. Then, he took and passed his CGC and therapy dog test.
As a therapy dog for kids, he was unparalleled, and he was just the right height for a wheel chair bound person to pat without having to lean. He would stand quietly for a long time, and made no sudden movements, so he was perfect for anyone who was anxious, or frail. Everyone who met him took an instant like to him, and he got more than his fair share of back rubs, and the famous hound ear pull.
One day, this exquisite therapy dog also became a hero - he saved his dad. Mike’s illness meant that he frequently suffered from a reversed sleep pattern, so he used to take Maska out for walks sometimes in the middle of the night. On one particular winter night, he left the house about 2:00 A.M. and followed his normal route. On the way, he slipped on the ice and fell. He was distressed to find that he could not get up on his own. But, he remembered that I had taught Maska to “wait” so that’s what he said to the dog. Not only did Maska wait, he braced and let Mike put a lot of weight on him, and did not move a single millimeter. Mike was barely able to get up with my hero dog’s help. He very likely saved Mike from freezing to death out there that night, because I would not have noticed them gone until morning. Maska weighed a tad less than 70 pounds, Mike 250 pounds. Needless to say, from that day on, Mike carried a cell phone on their walks.
Maska liked most dogs, although he wasn’t a player, but he always loved Sioux from the moment he arrived, and she loved him. Even when Sequoyah, the bossy Aussie, arrived, Maska put up with her puppy antics and her inevitable desire to herd him to and from their outdoor play yard. Only periodically did he “Woof!” back at her to keep her in line, as if he was trying to remind her who the grownup in the relationship was.
This was the “boy dog” that Mike’s kids had begged for, and he often went for walks with them, or bike rides. He’d trot happily along on his leash next to a bicycle, with no gizmo needed to keep him from weaving or pulling too hard on the bike.
Sadly, last week, he suddenly went from my doodlebug, happy go lucky, sweet bed pillow dog, to a worried boy too sick to eat. After much investigation, and a couple of wrong diagnostic turns (no one’s fault, just the usual tries at differential diagnoses) we discovered surgically that he was suffering from adenocarcinoma that had already spread from his pancreas to his liver. Even though I could have taken him home for a few more days, I could see that the incision was painful, and he was just miserable. So, I chose to let my sweet boy go to see his doggy daddy and his other sweetheart, Dancer. He went like a warrior. A native elder sang the Mi’Kmaq Honor Song at the appointed hour, in recognition of the good medicine that this dog was responsible for. In a bundle, attached to his collar, I inserted the feathers that I found on my path last night (I think they were from Mike), some blessed sweet grass given me by a dear friend, some sage, and a tuft of Dancer’s fur. As he crossed over to the spirit land, I’m sure that he was met right at the Rainbow Bridge by his dad and our other relations. I know he will get there safely, because on my way back home, as I thought of him meeting his dad again, I looked up and saw a tiny hawk, messenger from the spirit land, and an even tinier bird, flying across my path.
Like Mike, he lived just long enough to see “his” boys grow up, and, just like Mike, he lived long enough to steal my heart. I wish him a safe journey crossing over to the spirit land into the loving arms I know are waiting there for him.