Whatever I Feel Like

It’s a sad day in our family today. Our beautiful (in every way) Tasha had to be put down this morning. My mom ICQed me around 7 AM to let me know that she was pretty sure Tasha had a stroke around 4 AM and that she wasn’t in good condition. Rob called my dad and we headed over there shortly after. My parents were not in good shape when we got there. They knew it was time. Tasha was drinking water from her bowl when we walked in, and when she turned her head to see us, it was apparent that something was wrong with her. Her head was tilted to the right and she couldn’t straighten it out. Once she started walking, we saw she was stumbling because her entire right side was giving out on her.

After we said our tearful, distraught goodbyes, Rob and my dad carried her to the car and drove her to the vet’s office. My mom really lost it as she went out the door, and I held her as she cried her eyes out. When the guys returned, they said her passing was very peaceful; she relaxed immediately when they dosed her up with heavy sedatives, and she passed away in great serenity once the final needle was administered. She will be cremated and my parents will get the ashes. I’m not sure what their plans are for the ashes at this point.

For those of you who are new here, let me tell you the story of Tasha.

Rob was stationed at Ellsworth AFB in late 1992, right after we got married, and we made the cross-country trek from New Jersey right before Thanksgiving of that year. We lived in an apartment that first year, but longed for the dog we couldn’t have because of the apartment complex policies. Before our year lease was up, I had found an ad in the paper for wolf hybrids pups and knew I wanted one. We had found a rental house that allowed pets and were moving in a couple of weeks, just in time to be able to go get the puppy. Our baby was born on a farm in Murdo, South Dakota and by the time we were able to take her home in mid-November, it was already pretty cold outside. Winter comes hard, fast, and early in South Dakota. Natasha, as we named and called her back then, was born to a (mean) purebred White German Shepherd father and (sweet) wolf/Alaskan Malamute hybrid mother. I still vividly remember the drive back home with Natasha whining and crying the whole way. When we stopped at the Sinclair gas station with the huge dinosaur monument in front, she peed for Rob like she was already house broken. That was our first indication of just how smart our new doggie was. And best of all, she took on all the sweet and gentle traits of her mother and none of the mean ones from her father.

We had such a great time raising Tasha – and it didn’t take long for us to shorten her name. We reserved the first syllable for when she was naughty, which was really only when we were gone and she got into the trash. Tasha’s favorite pastime was getting into trash cans and eating the nastiest, most vile thing she could find – or simply everything she could find. She wasn’t too picky and we soon learned what other wolf-hybrid owners knew: their scavenger genes run strong and deep. Tasha remained a scavenger until the very end, too. The kitchen trash can could never be kept in her reach, even recently.

In the summer of 1994, I was pregnant with Connor, and Rob got sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba for the Haitian refuge crisis. I was 6 1/2 months pregnant and living across the country from family. We quickly decided I would go home to stay with my parents until Rob was able to leave Cuba. His venture there lasted four months, so Tasha and I got to spend quite a bit of time with my family. When we arrived in New Jersey, Tasha was just 7 months old.

When Rob came home, Tasha, the baby, and I all flew back to South Dakota to begin our lives as a family there. Just over a year later, though, Rob got orders to Incirlik, Turkey. Rob went over there first and called home with reports of wild dog packs roaming the base and Turkish locals shooting dogs at will. He was afraid to bring Tasha to Turkey for those reasons, as well as for fear of her picking up diseases. We asked my parents to keep Tasha for two years (the length of Rob’s tour there), and they were extremely reluctant to do so. In fact, that resulted in some very heated arguments between my parents and I. In the end, though, they agreed to keep her.

After Rob’s time in Turkey was over, he got stationed in Dover, DE, and we had plans to bring Tasha back with us. However, when the time came, my parents didn’t want to give her up. My mom suggested we “share” her and let her live in two different places like a child of divorced parents. Rob and I didn’t think that was a good idea for Tasha, and we also didn’t like the fact that Tasha would have such a small backyard at our town home on base housing, so we decided to let my parents keep her permanently. Even though Tasha lived with my parents for 11 of her almost 14 years, we all still considered her everyone’s dog. Rob and I contributed to the cost of her vet bills and still remained very much a part of her life. She lived a sweet, pampered life with my parents. They’ve got a nice-sized backyard where she was able to chase (and catch! ack!) squirrels, birds, possums and other small creatures that had the misfortune of crossing her path. My dad had a ritual he kept with her every day when he came home from work – letting her up on the bed for play and cuddle time. There isn’t much Tasha could have wanted for living with my parents, and I’m glad they were able to keep her as their dog for all those years. If she would have stayed with us, she would have moved all over the place, and to houses without suitable yards for her. She probably wouldn’t have lived as long as she did.

I’m really sad that Tasha passed. We all knew the day would come eventually, but it doesn’t help you get over the grief any sooner knowing it’s coming. And while I’m sad, I’m also relieved that she’s gone; she was in pain for a while now, and just wasn’t herself this whole last year. Tasha was always a very energetic dog, and seeing her this last year deteriorate in front of our eyes was hard. I’m glad to know we don’t have to worry about her health any more or if today would be the day we’d get “the call”. Today was indeed the day, but tomorrow will not be, and neither will all the days after that. As my very wise 10 year old said this morning, “All dogs are born and all dogs die. That’s just the way life works. None of us are here forever.” Indeed.

We will be telling the stories of Tasha’s good-ole days for years to come, I’m sure. She had some great quirks that made Tasha – Tasha. Whenever anyone came to the house, she demanded a treat. She felt it was her right to receive a treat whenever anyone came in. I’m not sure why she thought she deserved a treat simply because the number of people in the house increased, but we all indulged her anyway. And like I mentioned already, she had a relentless fondness for the trash. She was the same way with any and all food. Baby locks on a cabinet had nothing on Tasha to keep her away from the trash or food inside of kitchen cabinets. My parents have a big lazy Susan style cabinet that can only spin in one direction now thanks to Tash. The thing that I think everyone will remember the most about Tasha, though, is her gentle, loving spirit. Tasha would have made a great mother because she had endless amounts of patience. The kids could (and did!) climb all over her, pulling her fur and generally terrorizing the hell out of her and she just laid there and tolerated it. When she had enough, she simply got up and shrugged them off. She never once made any sort of gesture or movement towards growling or biting or other meanness. She loved our kids as much as we did, I think.

There were a lot of naysayers who cautioned us about having a wolf-hybrid. They told us she would eventually bite or attack – it was just a matter of time. They didn’t know Tasha. Her only proclivity towards fighting in that manner was directed at strange men she deemed dangerous. Tasha had a fierce bark and an awesome snarl, and I believe developed quite a reputation around my parents’ neighborhood as being somewhat vicious. Their neighborhood has gone down in recent years, and a lot of their neighbors have had their houses broken into. My parents’ house should have been a target; theirs is the most well-kept house on the block, they’ve got lots of expensive items in the house, as well as a hot tub out back that should make it clear to any passersby that they’re doing alright. However, their house was never touched. We all believe that is solely thanks to Tasha. I love that she knew exactly when to be vicious and when to be her usual, tender, loving self.

We joked that we won’t have to worry about wearing black any more now… Tasha was a notorious shedder who left her trail of fur behind her wherever she went. I think it will be quite some time before my parents get all of her hair out of the house. I’ll be sad to leave their house without Tasha’s fur coating my clothes now.

Tasha joins our other beloved pets in Doggie Heaven today. She will be sorely missed, but I’m so extremely grateful for all the years she blessed us with her unique and special presence.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 18th, 2007 at 3:27 pm and is filed under The Fam. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.