Bug

I don't know about others, but I always wonder what dogs think of us, their caretakers. Do they know how we feel? Do they understand what they mean to us? Can they see how they change our lives? Can they anticipate the loss we feel when they are no longer with us? All of this was going through my head last week as I sat with Bug, knowing it was going to be our last time together.

After bringing her in the house a few weeks ago, Bug's health saw an improvement. She became more alert and more steady on her feet; she even ate regularly. But, it was a short-lived improvement. Her health dropped off sharply and there was nothing we could do except try to make her comfortable. The vet we took her to suspected it was a ruptured spleen or tumour and that her rapid decline more or less pointed to this.

Bug was a fun dog to know. We got her as an old leader, hoping to have her help us train puppies but she made it clear the first winter: she was done pulling a sled. Even still, she was as excited as the rest of the dogs when it came time to take them for a run. Bug enjoyed being Hudson's companion. The two of them were like an old couple: he'd mosey around on walks, poking here and nosing there, and Bug would encourage him, prod him, and make sure he wasn't left behind.

I don't want to dwell on what Bug was. Those who knew her understand and those who didn't should know she died an honest dog.

Bug