Bookends

I know this isn't really my normal blog subject matter, but I just wanted to share. If you're not a "dog person", this will probably bore you.

You might know that we have a 9 month old female Siberian Husky. Her name is Suka, and she is amazing and we love her. She's the darker one in the picture. She is red and white, with ice green eyes and a cute kink in her tail.

We chose her name because in at least one "first nations" dialect (Inuit? Inupiaq? Inuktitut? I'm not sure precisely which dialect we got the word from) "suka" means "fast". Her full name is Ikkuma Suka - Ikkuma meaning "fire". We might be mixing dialects here - we wanted to be true to the language but didn't know anyone who could confirm for us, so we decide to just go with it. So her name, in intention if not truly in translation, being "fast fire".

(Sidenote: if anyone is familiar with these arctic dialects and wants to provide information about our choice of words/name, even if it's just to tell me that we botched the language, let me know. We won't change it now, but we still wouldn't mind knowing if we are inaccurate. Our goal was to be correct.)

None of us can keep up with her. She is never out of energy and requires constant entertainment. I'm not kidding. Our boys are 10 and 6, bundles of energy in their own right, and they still can't handle her roughhousing for long. If we fail to entertain her sufficiently, she takes to digging in the trash, chewing on furniture, or just tearing around the house.

Let me back up a little. I'm an English Springer Spaniel girl, born and bred. In September of 2003, when she was 14, our last girl Chelsea had to be put down because she could no longer walk or see or hear. It was two years before I was ready to add a canine companion to our family again. Since Chelsea's loss, we added two feline's to the crowd, but Chelsea had a special place with us and we needed to heal from her loss.

So last fall we were beginning to miss having a dog around, and I started talking about getting a Springer puppy. My husband voiced his opinion that since I got to have a springer last time, he thought it was his turn to choose. He has always wanted a husky. This is not a "Snow Dogs" or "Eight Below" motivated desire. He's wanted one for 30 years.

We did our reasearch. Thoroughly. We gleaned information from everyone we knew who has a husky or any related arctic breed like a malamute or samoyed. Huskies are not a breed for the faint-at-heart. They shed. They dig. They escape. They run away and don't return. They chew. And they are relentless althletes. They love the cold and rain and snow and hate the heat. Since we have a tightly fenced yard, two energetic boys, cool wet winters and central air in our house for the summer, we figured it would be fine.

So we went one night last fall to see some husky puppies. The breeder was local and had a varied litter with one white, two black/white, two red/white, and one grey/white. We thought this would give us a good introduction to the various colors that husky genes produce. We were just going to look. JUST to look, mind you. Get information, talk to a breeder, ya know. Investigate.

Two hours and $500 later we were the proud owners of a red/white short-haired female husky. She just was for us. No doubt about it. She was perfect.

Except for the need for nighttime company. We had decided right away that we would crate-train her. She would need to be confined when not supervised (i.e. at night and when we're not home), primarily because of the cats. We set up the crate in the living room - this is not a little crate - 24 x 24 x 36. So that first night we put her to bed, we knew she would cry. Boy did she ever. Wailing and howling and crying like you've never heard. Third night we moved her crate into our room at night. Not a peep. Ok, problem solved, except that now we were committed to hauling her crate from our room to the living room each day and back at night.

And except for the predatory instinct. We had been told that since she was born into a home that had cats that she would have learned that cats are part of her "pack" and not prey. Well sure enough, that's true. What we didn't know is that she would still be compelled to CHASE the cats whenever opportunity presented itself.

And except she managed to find a way out of the yard. Thing was we couldn't determine how she was getting out. She wouldn't try it when she knew we were watching. Took weeks before we were onto her trick and were able to close off her escape route. Lucky for us she's a good girl and would eventually come when called, after we routinely chased her around the block.

And except she loves the RAIN. In Portland this translates to muddy dog 9 months of the year. Read: MUDDY. WET. FOOTPRINTS.

And except she is strong. Like an Ox. Like by the time she was 6 months old, I could no longer take her for walks. I couldn't handle her. After many sore arms and shoulders, we got her a spiked training collar. That worked for me.

But the digging in the trash. Whoa boy. I totally knew it was just a boredom thing. Now, don't get me wrong, this girl is hardly ever alone, she always has someone or something to play with, she gets run every day - sometimes twice - and has a huge yard to play in. She has no legitimate reason to be bored - except that she's a husky. So back to the trash. She knew if was wrong. When she had pullled something out of the trash she would immediately tuck her tail and run into her crate. This was, of course, after shredding said item all over the kitchen. I was at my wits end. I knew what we had to do.

After much deliberation we decided the only option was to get her a playmate. I never imagined having one Husky in my house, let alone two.

We decided we didn't want to do the puppy thing again, so we began looking for an adult dog that needed a new home. We'd been looking since about January, just hadn't found the right one. One day a couple weeks ago, there was an ad on Craigslist up in the Seattle area. I responded and we discoved that he was red/white, a little lighter but nearly identical to Suka in markings, with pale blue eyes. After several e-mail conversations with the owner, we decided to meet. I had a good feeling about this boy. I knew he had been loved, he had lived with kids and another dog. He is only a year and a half old. He has a quirk, too (remember Suka's tail is kinked), a massive overbite...it looks like his tongue doesn't fit in his mouth. He has an appropriate name too, "Kai" means "dog" in at least one arctic dialect. He was a perfect match. It just felt right.

On May 7th, after meeting him, we decided to take him home. We put his dog bed in the back of our car and he climbed in and didn't make a sound in all of the 2 hour drive home. A sign?

The first meeting of the dogs was tense. For all of about 15 seconds. Then they started chasing each other around the yard and wrestling, all the while grinning ear-to-ear ( you dog lovers know they can smile!). They are absolute soul mates. Suka thought she'd died and gone to heaven - we'd brought her A REAL LIVE toy to play with!

They are inseparable, follow each other around, curl up together to sleep, play kissy-face, tug-of-war with toys and bones, tear around the yard, tackle each other, lounge around together...I can't explain it exept it's like they are meant to be together. Oh, by the way we are not planning to breed them. These two are both official non-breedable dogs. As in "fixed".

We, of couse, planned to crate Kai, too. We were worried because he'd never been in a crate before. But sure enough, adaptive as he is and since he saw Suka doing it without complaining, he never protested. And another cool thing: Since they are crated side-by-side in the living room, we no longer have to move Suka's crate to our bedroom at night. She is not lonely because he's there, and they both sleep peacefully every night.

We now have two pullers, which is cool because we plan to skijor with them in the winter. We do have 8 muddy paws instead of 4, but overall this is a small sacrifice for having two thoroughly happy, joyful dogs.

The best thing: he's extrememly good-mannered. He doesn't dig in the trash, doesn't steal food of tables, doesn't climb on the furniture, and is gentle with the kids.

And they are a formidable match for the lonely pit bull in the yard behind us.

What a deal.

Bookends. A matched pair. Pretty cool if you ask me.