We apologize for not updating sooner, but the end of October was not kind to us. We lost two dogs rather unexpectedly this past week and are still trying to recover.
Hatchet
Hatchet, was one of our mean lead dogs and spent the entire summer up in Anchorage keeping Travis company. He was an exceptionally friendly and intelligent dog. I remember one day this fall when it had been raining for several days straight, Travis and I went out into the dog yard to start digging ditches to clear some of the water. When we got to near Hatchet’s area, he took one look at what we were doing and, voracious digger that he was, he pitched in and helped out. He wasn’t digging just randomly either. He was an incredibly smart and talented dog who, on more than one occasion, walked leash-less in downtown Anchorage. All he needed was vocal commands.
Although he was primarily Travis’ leader, the few times I ran Hatchet up front I was nothing short of impressed. Travis had Hatchet since he was a puppy and, fortunately, we have several of his kids to remember him by: Larry, Curly, and Little Screamer. I will always remember how excited he was whenever he ran off leash or how excited he was simply to pull; Hatchet knew how to get the team moving. He will be terribly missed.
Chena
Chena was my pet dog. A ten-year old Siberian husky, she was incredibly devoted to me. To others, she was frustrating. Try as they might, Chena was difficult to befriend. She had an incredibly ambivalent attitude towards most people. A gentle-spirit, Chena was extremely shy, incredibly funny, and unbelievably loyal. I’ve never had a dog follow me around the way Chena would. My mother used to call her my lady-in-waiting. If I left a room, Chena would leave the room or if I stood up, she’d stand up. Simple things, but her love and devotion were evident. If I left her for the day, you’d never see a dog jump up and down with so much excitement upon my return — I will certainly miss that. I actually couldn’t even get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom without her following me to sit outside and, on more than one occasion, she simply barged her way in. She was a dog that knew what she wanted and often got it.
One time, Chena tried to eat my college diploma. She once ran around under the chairlift at Killington Ski Resort. When we went skiing, we used to tie her up outside and gosh, could she howl — we could here her from the mountain. She had two stuffed sheep that she liked to think were her puppies and that she’d do anything for. She walked into a lit fireplace, forcing us to coin the phrase “Chena-dumb.” But she was anything but stupid. She knew how to get what she wanted. She often felt like she needed to compete for my attention and, as a result, often didn’t warm up to the other people in my life. She routinely ran away when my parents watched her. She always barked like mad at my father. And, on more than one occasion, she tricked Travis out of bed simply to steal his spot and lie next to me. She is the only dog I’ve ever known to break into the pound and the only dog I’ve ever known who ran away from sheep. We used to live near a sheep farm when we were still in New England and I used to walk her out there. She’d sit and watch the sheep but, one day, her presence seemed to upset the flock and they started baahing. This terrified her. That dog high-tailed it out of there so fast I had no time to do anything about it; but I didn’t worry. I walked home and she was simply sitting on the front porch waiting to be let inside. She was incredible dog and moving forward will not be easy.
Saying Goodbye
The shock of losing both Hatchet and Chena within such a small span of time still doesn’t feel real. I still come home and open the door gingerly because Chena used to sit in front of it when I went out and, if I opened it too quickly, I’d hit her with it. I still look out at Hatchet’s house and expect to see him there — instead, there’s a young goofy looking pup because the sight of his house empty was simply too hard to see. Yesterday, putting away harnesses, we saw Hatchet’s harness and Chena’s. It’s the little reminders that they’re gone that are the painful ones. Not having to yell at Hatchet to line out when we first start hooking up or having to put him back on his house when we’re done with a run. Not hearing Chena barking with excitement because oh my god! it’s time to eat. It’s looking at Goblin and Gremlin who weren’t her puppies but whom she adopted anyways and protected from the other dogs.
Hatchet and Chena are buried next to one another in the back yard. To make things a little more bizarre, Chena was actually pregnant with Hatchet’s puppies. Unfortunately, the puppies did not survive — and Chena, who so desperately wanted to be a mother, I think died mostly of a broken heart. Although it by no means makes things easier, we take comfort knowing that Chena, Hatchet, and their puppies are together as a family in heaven.
