Yesterday we had to put down our Siberian Husky. At just under eleven years, it seemed too soon. She was an independent girl, always – she came to us as a rescue out of a home inexperienced in the ways of Northern Breed dogs. She was always wary, backing away from a sudden movement, but she knew her own mind.
She brought new life to our old dog, a Shepard/Husky/Wolf mix. She took care of him, bossed him around, protected him in his later years (he lived to be 19) and generally ran the pack. That is what female huskies do. And in a house of females, she vied for her position in the pack as the puppies (my daughters) grew to women.
Things that I will always remember:
- skunks – she killed one (shaking it in her mouth like a rag doll after we had all been teargassed by the critter) and had a serious altercation with at least two more. Gallons of hydrogen peroxide/soda later, when she was wet, we could still catch a faint whiff of skunk.
- possums – one prehistoric beast facing down another – epic. When one would be sitting in a tree at the yard perimeter, she would sit and watch for hours, like dog TV.
- singing a song of hunger and abandonment with her (she howled, so we harmonized)
- her constant conversations with my mother. They talked all day when Mom came to visit.
- Escape artist – she loved nothing more than to find a way out of the yard and run.
- the car trick – but you could get her back by opening the car door and say, “Sky, come” and she’d look around all casual like, “Oh, my ride’s here.”
- She was a fool for buttered popcorn
- Hair – fur, what ever – she blew her undercoat twice a year, and it was like drifts of snow in the house. She had a beautiful coat – she was a beautiful dog.
- Landscaper – Huskies are diggers, and she was so breed true that she re-landscaped huge sections of the yard.
- Her throne – the Adirondack chair on the back porch was hers. She would sit in it, resting her head on the arm, enjoying the sun.
- She loved Sam. She loved Hannah. The rest of us, she tolerated.
- But she did love to sit on my feet while I worked at my desk. She would insinuate herself under the desk into the cave at my feet and plop down. She would let me tuck my feet under her and keep them warm.
So, Sky. Wise ass, dog sister, fuzzy face, whiner, great singer – we will miss you. Good bye, pretty girl.
Living on the Lip of Insanity 
It has been a hell of a year for you and your family. A toast to your wonderful dog and her undeniable spirit!
Thanks, Matt – I prefer not to think about how it could get worse, so I will just toast the indomitable spirit in all of us.
Tears for Sky
Thanks, Lew – indeed. Going to miss that furry girl.
It’s always too soon to let go. I’m sorry for your loss. Rest in peace sweet girl.
There you go, making me cry again. Thank you for reading and taking a moment to comment. And ten years from now it would still feel too soon. Rest well, indeed, my little friend.
Sniff. Sniff
I just do not have the words So a hug will have to do
See you tomorrow
Indeed. See you tomorrow. We will raise a glass to her.
More tears for you – pet loss seems so sharply painful. Love what you wrote about her.
Thanks you, Sharon. It happened so fast we had little time to prepare. She was quite a dog. Hugs to you.
I’m not sure which is worse, having it happen suddenly or having a sick pet slowly getting sicker and sicker. Answer – they both suck!
Wishing you and family quick healing – though only time seems to help with that.
I am thinking of Sky, and you, and life.
She was a lucky dog. And we are blessed humans.
We are lucky, and although it seems that I keep adding up goodbyes this year, I know that they resonate and ache because we love and are loved in return. No greater proof of being alive is necessary. Sky was always herself and never apologized or being so. Another excellent lesson.