Black Ribbon -- Alexandria

Dear Mal friends,

Please delete unread if you'd rather not be vented all over. Here I get a lot of "she's just a dog." Only someone who's been owned by a true Malamute bitch can understand what I mean by "soul mate."

The moon covered her face this morning. Maybe she could not bear to shine on a world bereft of its most precious treasure. Or maybe my Allie is dancing in moondrenched pastures and snowdrifts entirely removed from this world.

Many of you have come to know my Guerillera Alexandria, who has been in renal failure the past 2.5 years. She crashed and was in a great deal of pain just in the last few days -- but not too much to stop her from stealing and eating her favorite Twizzlers -- an entire bag full. >sigh<. Round-the-clock fluids did not help, she was not improving, and it was clearly time to let her go.

Her foster mother from Texas Alaskan Malamute Rescue, who rescued her from the city pound practically from under the needle and then fostered her for a year, met me at the vet's. Lynn fought me tooth and nail before I could adopt Allie. I had never had a Mal, and didn't know squat about them -- I had fallen in love with a friend's huge, gorgeous black-and white Mal when growing up. He was a gentle teddy-bear who let us rest our heads on his tummy and went hiking and riding with us. He lived peacefully with another dog, a cat and a bird. I had a totally skewed view of Mals, in other words. My lifelong dream was to get one as soon as I had a house.

So when I found Allie on the TAMR web site, I called Lynn and asked for her. No reply. Called and left zillions of messages. Nothing. Finally reached Lynn, who declared me completely unsuitable. She finally came over and checked my house and fence. The fence was too low, and I had a RR-mix bitch already -- sorry, no. So I raised the fence, and Sascha was obedience trained within an inch of her life. Finally, Lynn allowed me to meet Allie and all the other fosters and get to know them. Allie showed absolutely no interest in me on our walk, was distant and cold. The other Mals were friendly and cuddly, falling all over me. I had to have her. We agreed on a foster period, and after a meet n greet with Sascha, I took her home.

Allie tested every possible limit. It took her at least a year to feel that she was really home, and would not be sent away again. She killed everything that moved, including outside cats, which sent me into hysterics, having been a cat person all my life. Lynn offered to take her back. I said, you've got to be kidding. It took about a year to get her to Be Nice to the indoor cats, with dog-free zones, barriers, and constant reinforcement. By the last few years, she was sleeping curled up with them, and Felix could thoughtfully nibble on her ears without anything worse happening than getting slimed.

Allie was a magical escape artist. She could be standing lost in thought on one side of the 7' fence. The next second, she would be sauntering nonchalantly down the street a block away, without any apparent effort. She could materialize silently and suddenly when you least expected her. Birds, squirrels, possums, rats, and all other moving things discovered this just a tad too late. She was a true stealth dog -- never broke a sweat, never lost her cool, never missed her mark.

Allie took no guff from anyone, including (esp.) me. And it was she who defined guff. She could be stubborn and ornery, as well as highly creative and hilarious. She had a subversive and sarky sense of humor. Her meaty bones invariably found their way under my pillow or under the sheets; she would deposit various carcasses exactly where I would be sure to step on them, and when she needed to barf, her aim was true and deadly. Her sequencing in agility was quite imaginative, and her interpretations of our drill team figures could be unexpected, and invariably timed after a series of perfect rehearsals that had lulled me into a rash sense of confidence. The more outrageous her transgressions, the more angelic the expression on her darling face, the softer her deep brown eyes, the shinier her halo.

I've always wished that I could meet the people who had her for her first 5 years. She must have been an absolute hellion. What was she like as a baby? why did they give her up?

Like a true alpha, she could often subdue her rowdy colleagues with a curl of the lip or a nasty look. However, if she met a dog she didn't like in a tight corner, all hell broke loose, and she could and did put her antagonists in the hospital. One dog that came at her found his nearest canine hanging by a thread. We fostered several dogs without incident, bringing them through heartworm treatment and getting one's platelet count into the normal range. Then along came The Magnificent Ghost, a badly traumatized goofyhead. The dynamic in the pack changed, and Allie and Sascha became mortal enemies. They had to be separated until Sascha's death -- at least when I was around.

When Rowan the Red joined us, Allie recognized a buddy, and they spent a lot of time hanging out together, making googly-eyes, or just standing front to back like horses in the shade. Allie was getting old and slowing down, and had to get out of the way of Rowan's boisterous clumsiness.

She may have slowed down in her 13th year, but Allie never lost her uncompromising character. She demanded total honesty, not knowing anything else herself. She made no commitments and no expectations, but took all good things as her due. She slept with me every night for 7 years, with very few exceptions. Her breathing was the last thing I heard at night, and the first thing I heard in the morning. I could reach over in the night and touch her, warm, furry, shedding copiously, and chances were, she would stretch and sigh and spoon up against me.

When it came time to let her go, we went to the vet where she had spent so much time on ivs. She was less than thrilled. My last command to her was to lie down on the blanket. She gave me a look, turned her back to me, lay down, and farted demonstrably, as was her wont when peeved. Lynn and I stroked her and talked to her and about her. She put up with us graciously. The vet explained to us what to expect, and gave the injections. When Allie felt them kick in, she gave a good, loud holler. It is perfectly fitting that my Guerillera Alexandria's last utterance should be, "What the @#$%*&?"

Allie was the best thing that ever happened to me. I am a different person now, after 7 years with her, lamentably inadequate, but I owe it to her to continue to strive to be what she wanted me to be -- or treated me as if I was. She was totally central to my life. I was more or less incidental to hers, and she would have left me in a flash at any time. I never understood her in the least. I still don't know anything about Malamutes. My boys are really, really dumb, hopefully because they're still young ... My life feels like a yawning void just now, though I'm still somewhat numb, and just keep talking to Allie as if she hasn't gone. Of course it's not true, and Allie is still with me, the best part of me. I'm so very, very grateful, and not sure how to go on.

Devastated,
Connie