Dyna

I write this with a heavy heart. My mother and her husband had to let Dyna go last week. It was horribly unexpected and all the more of a shock for that. Dyna had just reached her 16th birthday (born in mid-January 1999). 

Taken in spring, 2002.

I got Dyna when she was about a year and a half old. Like all beloved pets, she has an origin myth. Dyna came to me as an AKC-registered, pure bred smooth fox terrier. Her owners had been quite successful with the breed a couple of decades before but they were elderly. Dyna was from their last litter. When the owners died, all of their remaining dogs were dumped into the rescue network in Pennsylvania. I agreed to take Dyna and she was duly put on a plane to Utah. I really had no idea what to expect when I arrived to pick her up. What I found was a tiny little white bitch with a black head, faint black ticking on her legs, and an amazingly calm demeanor.

Taken just days after Dyna joined CircusK9.

Harry and Iz and Dyna immediately formed a unit. Most of my pictures of Dyna are of all three of them. They were close in age, with Harry and Dyna separated by about six months, and Dyna and Iz separated by about 5 months, and similar in temperament.

Harry, Dyna, and Iz sunning themselves.

Except that Dyna never displayed the extreme nuttiness that is fairly typical of the breed. Don't mistake that for an absence of enthusiasm for life. But Dyna was never very impressed with flyball or agility or even basic obedience. She much preferred to follow Iz around. Whatever Iz was doing, Dyna was not far behind. This quickly earned her the nickname "Mini-Me." I used to joke that an invisible elastic string connected Iz's butt to Dyna's nose. 


Harry, Iz, and Dyna had many adventures together. They were a blur of motion and energy and fox terrier love of life.

Iz, Harry, and Dyna in Teasdale, Utah, December 2002.

I became quite involved in animal-assisted therapy activities with the Delta Society/Intermountain Therapy Dogs located in Salt Lake City. I quickly learned that because of her calmness, Dyna was a perfect visitor for frail seniors. For two years, we made weekly visits to a hospice. Not all the clients there were seniors, but as they were approaching the ends of their lives, they were all frail, frightened, angry, confused, resigned, tired, in pain. This was the most emotionally exhausting animal volunteer work I have ever participated in. I cried every single week on my drive back home. The nurses told me that often Dyna and I were the only visitors some of the clients had received in weeks. Dyna was solid, calm, accepting of any and all touches and caresses, and charmed her way into the hearts of nearly everyone we approached. 

One of my favorite anecdotes from that period concerns a woman who initially refused a visit from us. Because Dyna was very small even for a female smooth fox terrier, I would pick her up and stand in the doorway to ask if the client wanted to spend some time with us. A bed-bound woman took one look at Dyna and emphatically refused. I don't like dogs! she said. But she kept on talking so I kept standing there holding Dyna. Then I edged into the room. Then I sat by the bed. Then I placed Dyna on the bed next to the woman. The entire time, she was telling me stories about the brown dog she had as a child, about the adventures she and her siblings had with that dog, about other dogs she had as an adult. Once Dyna was settled in next to her, the woman began caressing Dyna on the chest (that's the magic spot for smooth fox terriers). Dyna fell asleep and I had to prop her up with my knees to keep her from oozing off the side of the bed. That woman was the only client we visited that week. The next week, she was gone. 

I submitted Dyna's story for an AKC award for therapy dogs. We got beat by a three-legged poodle (seriously), but Dyna got a very nice medal for her honorable mention. 

This is the photo that I submitted to AKC with her story.

It tore a huge hole in my heart to leave Dyna behind when I went to Saudi Arabia. I could only take two dogs and I chose Harry and Mimi. Sophie's choice. But I found the best home for Dyna that I could. She went to live with my mother and her husband in Virginia. They had (still have) two large rescue dogs. I also convinced them to take one of my cats, the Siamese-mix Bhumi, because I thought he would be a good companion for their elderly male cat. My instincts were good on both counts. Dyna and Bhumi both settled in quickly, Dyna of course taking charge of the other dogs from the start. She had never been in charge much at my place since I had no lack of strong, bossy female terriers. Dyna had always been quite content to follow. But once she was the only female terrier around, she certainly rose to the challenge.

Harry, Dyna, Iz in Salt Lake City. Looking for trouble, of course.

The first time I visited my mother after I'd been in KSA for a while, Dyna greeted me enthusiastically and slept with me while I was there. But with time, even though she always met my arrivals with happy greetings, it was clear that she had found a new home. Dyna ended up spending five and a half years in Virginia.

I was able to visit my mother in December for the first time since I had returned from KSA. When I left, I knew in my heart that it might be the last time I would see Dyna. 

My mother says the house is empty without her. That's the thing with fox terriers, they manage to fill an entire room with their buzz of energy.

Dyna was not an agility dog like Iz or a flyball superhero like Harry. She was simply Dyna, little sweet pea, who lived an exciting and eventful life full of dog and cat friends and people who loved her. We should all be as loved as Dyna.

Dyna and other smooth foxes she was related to had this unusual habit of dropping their lower lip when they were relaxed. It was quite characteristic. Taken in 2009 as I was preparing to leave for KSA. Dyna's ticking got much heavier as she got older.

Rest in peace, Dyna bug.

Iz by Jody Whitsell

In 2008, I discovered Jody Whitsell at the Reliant Cluster of Dog Shows. I was there with Dogz Rule! to do some flyball. Only Harry was running--Iz was back in Dallas in a specialist vet hospital slowly dying. It was emotionally very difficult for me to be there in Houston, wanting to be back in Dallas and knowing that there was nothing I could do that weekend but wait. I only made it through with help from my friends in DR! and from my friend DSL. She was in Houston for some work meetings and rearranged her flight schedule to spend a couple of days that weekend at the tournament with the club.

She and I wandered past Jody's booth--and came to a screeching halt because hanging on the wall was a magnificent oil painting of a black and white smooth fox terrier! I couldn't afford the oil but left with a beautiful print of the painting.

Earlier this year, I asked Jody to paint a portrait of Iz. I sent her an email that I hoped wasn't too wordy describing all of the wonderful things that Iz had accomplished in her short life and attached 10 photos.

Jody ended up doing two original oil paintings for me. A scan of one of them is now on the front page of the blog. I totally love it and I hope that you do too.

I encourage you to visit Jody's website and her booth if you happen to see her at your next big tournament. Her style is bold and colorful and she always seems to capture the unique spark of each of her subjects.

In Memory of Iz

I said goodbye to my beautiful Iz on August 1, 2008. I think of her every day and still miss her with a pain that brings tears to my eyes.

This is a video from one of her last agility runs in June, 2008. Debbie was letting me run Iz every so often in Mimi's morning class. Iz had been in and out of hospital for months and, weak and thin, could just manage 8-inch jumps. Iz often ran with her mouth open, tongue to one side, completely abandoned to her joy. This is how I want to remember her: full of joy, running and playing agility by my side.

Iz, my little heart, I hope you are now running stronger and jumper higher.

Gracie, My Agility Queen

I'm going to start with a very big brag: Gracie earned her third Novice B Jumpers Q on Sunday! This means that she earned her NAJ title in one trial--her first trial at that! That doesn't happen very often. She's going to be quite the serious competitor, I think. I'm now taking wagers on who gets out of Open first, Gracie or Mimi.

I always called Iz my 'gility queen. After this weekend, I am passing that title to Gracie, at least for a little while.

What's even more amazing is that her third Jumpers run came after I had to pull her from her Standard run earlier because she was behaving so oddly, hunched over and refusing to do any obstacles. I took her outside and she had terrible shooting diarrhea. Several times. Ew.

Everyone agreed it was a combination of rich treats, excitement, stress, and a very long three-day trial. Still, Gracie is a real trooper. After she'd had a couple more trips outside, she seemed to be feeling much better. Back to her bouncy, tail wagging self. So I decided to run her in that very last class.

It was a wonderfully glorious run, too. Not pretty (had to fudge the weaves) but I did some fancy handling including two front crosses (yes, in a Novice course!) and she was right there with me. She just sailed through the middle of the course, stretching out and taking the jumps with lovely form.

Mimi and I didn't manage to pull it together on Sunday. The girls were engaging in horrible screaming crate fighting while I was trying to walk the Open Jumpers course so by the time I left the course two times to go up and try to separate and cover their crates, I was in a pretty foul mood. I wasn't able to muster up the happy voice until second half of the course. Since Mimi missed the SECOND jump (my fault entirely) but continued to take the third (so it wasn't a refusal but a wrong course, which is not allowed in Jumpers), the entire run was a wash. I finally did remember to use the happy voice and she just blasted ahead. I don't think I did right by her in that run but I tried.

Something very odd happened during our Open Standard briefing. Standard that day was being judged by the out-of-town judge (it was a two-ring, three-judge trial--had to be with more than 890 runs on Saturday and nearly that many on Sunday). Anyway, after the usual AKC safety review, she said, I want to remind you all of something.

During the Excellent classes, the judge said, a handler sent her dog off course with an incorrect hand movement. Even though the dog performed the rest of the course with no errors, the handler was glaring at the dog and speaking tersely. The judge said she could see the dog crumbling with each obstacle. At the end of the run, the handler gave no praise to the dog, jammed the leash on it, and left the ring clearly angry.

The judge paused, then said, I want you all to remember that many of us would give anything for just one more run...and the entire Open class, about 30 women and a few men, started crying. My first thought was that I would give anything, anything, to be able to run with my Iz again. Then I thought of my friend DSL and her Bullet. We would indeed give anything.

The judge looked around at all of us, and then she started crying too. Wiping tears from her face, she said, oh, I didn't mean to make you cry. Be happy, love your dogs, have a good run.

She was still wiping her eyes as she started off to measure the course yardage, and the entire group of us walked the course sniffing and trying not to be too obvious about wiping our eyes.

I know she didn't mean to make us sad.

And I know that I never, ever want to be that handler.

My Little Old Man Harry

It's so easy to anthropomorphize when I am around my dogs for so many hours of each day. While I understand quite clearly that they are animals, they still have deep personalities with many facets.

When Iz died last August, Harry entered a protracted period of mourning. No drama, he just withdrew from the household activity, activity which had to continue even though I too was struggling with my sadness. After taking care of the basics like eating and pottying, he would curl up in another room, always away from the rest of the dogs. This went on for months.

Lately Harry has been behaving very differently. He and Cap and I play almost every morning. No, Harry isn't playing with Cap. The only dog he ever played with was Iz. Harry and I play tug with one hand and with the other I either play fetch or tug with Cap. Harry now gets up in the morning when I do in anticipation of our game.

Harry follows me around the house instead of hanging out by himself. I was washing dishes the other morning and turned to find him stretched out on the throw rug in the kitchen. I don't think he has ever done that before in this house, and I've been here almost two years. He and Dyna were curled up on the wondrous Costco dog bed next to my computer table the other night--he's never done that before either.

Harry and Jack often curl up together at night now (they and Dyna sleep on the bed with me). Given their stormy past, that is almost unbelievable, but I often reach out my hand in the dark to find them back to back, sometimes even spooned together if it is a bit chilly.

Harry detests Cap but I can't say that Cap being here isn't part of Harry's change. I also can't know for sure if part of the change is due to the fact that Harry's toenails are no longer hurting him and are in fact growing back in and looking pretty good, if still really stubby.

And I can't say if Harry wouldn't prefer to have Iz back but fox terriers are nothing if not pragmatic. He appears to have decided to make the best of what he does have: a newly noisy household that revolves around a boisterous, trouble-making puppy.

I would give anything to have my Iz back. It is as painful to think of her being gone now as it was eight months ago. But I too have to be pragmatic. I've got a house full of lovely, lively dogs that need to play and learn and be loved. My wise little old man Harry is helping me along.

Happy Fox Terriers

Dyna and Iz, November 2002, days after Dyna arrived by plane from a Pennsylvania rescue group

USDAA and Mimi (2)

Poor Mimi. My pup is usually unflappable but she had a little nervous breakdown today.

This particular hosting club tended to take forever before starting each new course. The course would be built and measured but there would be an unusual amount of flailing around for scribe sheets and setting the timer, finding ring crew, judge getting into position, and so forth. And we were the first dog in all weekend, often the first dog of the Starters class (no 12" or 8" dogs ahead of us). That in itself is a bit stressful for Mimi as she is still so easily distracted. I can't just walk her out onto the course and stand there while all this goes on. She needs to play a lot of fun games with me, and I still need to use food to keep her focused. Can't do that in the ring.

They put the judge on a wireless mic for Snookers so she could call points. This afternoon, they had the speaker placed on the edge of the ring at hip level aimed directly down the start line itself. The volume was turned up far too loud (the only people who really need to hear the judge call points are the handler and the scribe). Mimi was the first dog in (as she was all weekend) and I was working her outside then trying to get her set up in front of the first jump as the judge fumbled with the mic. There was feedback, there was clicking, the volume was so loud we could hear the judge breathing. All of this was aiming straight at my pup's sensitive ears.

Mimi just freaked out. She refused to take the first jump, circling it with her tail down, ears back. I tried to get her to do a second jump and she ran out of the ring. I crawled under the rope and grabbed her. She was frantic to get into her crate, trembling and panting.

I waited a bit, then pulled her out of her crate and tried to walk her around the far ring that wasn't in use at the time. She was hunched down, tail tucked tight, ears pulled back, making herself as small as she could, slinking along close to the ground. She refused food. When I finally gave up and carried her back to the car and her crate, she was still shaking and panting. Clearly it was time to call it a day. (By the time we got home, she was more relaxed and not so much on edge.)

Today was much harder for Mimi. She was very tired--four runs the first day may still be too much for her (note to self to not go overboard on future entries)--and she simply didn't show the focus and energy today that she had yesterday. It's so easy to forget that she's still very green and young.

We placed but did not qualify in Jumpers (entirely my fault), and failed to complete the Standard course. Then the terrible Snooker game and the end of the trial for Mimi.

On the bright side, her contacts were great and I pulled off this wonderful RFP from table to teeter that worked very nicely. I got in some super nice front and rear crosses in Jumpers. Her first run, the Standard run, was nothing like the first run of yesterday. We did do most of the course, failing to complete the weaves at the end (multiple attempts become pointless after a couple of tries). So even though we bring home no ribbons or Qs today, I'm still learning how to be the best partner I can for my crazy little Mimi.

Here are a couple of photos to end with. The first is of Iz's ribbon boards and the second one is of course Mimi's ribbon board that I just hung up this afternoon.

Me, an optimist? With Mimi, I am!

Mimi has her second agility trial this weekend. It's an AKC trial in McKinney, north of Dallas. I'm trying not to feel nervous. I know that she has the skills to nail any novice course out there (she ran that USDAA Masters Jumpers course in 28 seconds during class last month). But will she have the focus? Will the trial setting overwhelm her again? Will I be able to run a full course with her? How much should I realistically expect? How can I tell if it's good Mimi or bad Mimi walking into the ring at my side?

I'm taking the optimistic, half-glass-full approach. Not only do we have a trial this weekend, we have a 3-day trial in November, and two 3-day trials in December. What was I thinking?

One of the December trials is with USDAA. I entered Mimi in every game except Pairs. I couldn't be sure she'd be ready and I sure didn't want to let another competitor down. Still, that's four runs a day. And the November AKC trial includes FAST (FAST is an acronym for some really stupid name made up by AKC but let's just call it the AKC gamble game). We're going to have more than 25 opportunities between this weekend and mid-December to make our partnership work in the ring.

To be honest, I don't think I could have written any of those things three years ago. With Iz, I thought only about winning. I learned almost too late that winning is not the only prize. I am ashamed that I sometimes left the ring disappointed in my dog. That is never ever going to happen with Mimi.

Happy Iz in September 2004

**After reading Gosia's comment, I realized that I may have left you all with the impression that Iz wasn't a winner. Iz was a most wonderful agility teammate for five years. She always gave 110% and she always ran with a smile on her face. If I was disappointed for not winning, then I failedto appreciate that my little terrier was always trying her very best. I failed Iz by not telling her after every run, no matter what the outcome, what a great thing it was that we just did. Thinking that the only measure of success was a qualifying run meant that I missed all those opportunities to celebrate a fabulously tough weave entry or a perfect dogwalk contact or one of those runs where it all becomes effortless. Iz kept trying her very best despite my thoughtlessness. So when I say that won't happen with Mimi, I mean that I won't miss those opportunities for celebration.

We didn't have class this week because of several big thunderstorms that came through north Texas on Sunday and Monday (I recorded an inch of rain in 36 hours), so I worked Mimi on short sequences that I set up in the training yard on Tuesday night and again tonight. I wanted to reinforce good strong 2on2off contacts and work through some of my nervousness about this weekend. Work is play, play is work. The transition between play and training is now seamless for Mimi and I want to reinforce that often.

I had set up some jumps to build speed to the Aframe approach and Mimi was rocketing forward when out of the corner of my eye I thought she stumbled as she was climbing the Aframe. To my horror, I discovered later when I was putting my equipment away that she did not stumble--she PUT HER FOOT COMPLETELY THROUGH THE ROTTEN WOOD. No injuries, not even a scratch on Meems. But I think next weekend I'll be doing some equipment maintenance!

Off to Flyball

I'm packing up to head to Austin for a flyball tournament. My club, Dogz Rule!, is hosting it so I'm heading out early to help set up everything tomorrow.

I've been thinking about Iz this week. I'm posting pictures of her running in her next-to-last flyball tournament in July 2007. She collapsed in November 2007 with auto-immune hemolytic anemia. This was the first of a series of horrible auto-immune diseases and syndromes and complexes that she developed in the subsequent months. She fought as hard as she could but by the end of July, her own body betrayed her.


These pictures are from a much happier time. This is how I want to remember my wonderful Iz.

Let's Play Flyball!

Do not, I repeat, do not get between Harry and the flyball box!

I'm getting ready to head to Austin this weekend. My flyball club is hosting their annual tournament in two weeks and this is our last planning meeting, and for me, the last practice, before show time.

We've got raffle baskets to wrap, judging schedules to finalize, prizes to organize. The entire club plus their spouses, siblings, and children are mobilized. It's a lot of work to host a tournament.

And per usual Dogz Rule! tradition, there will be adult beverages, silly games, tables groaning with food for us and the judges, and lots of fun.

Flyball tournaments, for those of you who have not participated, are as much social events as they are sports competitions. I've been feeling a bit lonely these past few weeks and it will be good to be surrounded by friends and dogs again.

I'd say that easily half of my flyball club has no idea what I do for a living...because it isn't important. What is important is my commitment to the club and to playing flyball with my dogs.

These pics of Harry and Iz were taken in 2005.


(In case you missed them in the comments, be sure to check out the cool posts [here's one and here's another] at Utah Tail Blazers' site.)

Just A Game We Play With Our Dogs

My thoughts turn to this particular topic often. When my flyball club was going through some growing pains last year, as all sports clubs will do, I kept telling them, remember, flyball is just a game we play with dogs. Meaning, we can strive for perfection and a win every time, and indeed we should have those goals, but we are out there in the ring with dogs. I'm not even suggesting the dogs are the weak link in the chain, but dogs are dogs. We can't expect them to understand division placements and interpersonal squabbling and title points.

It's so easy to lose sight of this. I did agility and flyball with Iz for years and accumulated many ribbons and points and letters after her name. But in the end, it was my pup's joy at being with me, no matter what crazy thing I was asking her to do, that matters. The joy of the moment was simply in being together.

Never lose sight of that. Give all of your furry ones a big hug tonight.

Isadora of Quicksilver 05/05/1999-08/01/2008 (2)

Yesterday Gosia reminded me that I left one dog out of my Cast of K9 Characters. It's so hard for me to even think about Iz that I haven't been able to start writing about her. Every picture brings up both joyous and painful memories. It's been a month since she died and I still can't talk about it--her--without crying. I'm crying now, actually. So I think maybe it's time that I started telling you some stories about my beautiful Iz.

I listed Iz's date of birth as 5/5/1999. That's actually the day that I brought her home. She was seven and a half weeks old, so was actually born in late March, 1999. I was living in Salt Lake City then. May in northern Utah can be capricious but that particular week was sunny with promise of a hot summer.

Within weeks of bringing Harry Houdini into my life back in November of 1998, I knew that he needed a buddy. I decided that a female smooth fox terrier would be just the thing. After the first of the year, I contacted Harry's breeders and asked them if they were going to have another litter. As a matter of fact, they said, one of their bitches was pregnant. She was going to whelp in March. Great, I said, I wanted to get a female puppy if there was one.

I must have called them every other day starting in mid-March. At last the pups were whelped, but still too early to see them. Then they opened their eyes, but still too early. At last they were old enough for me to go see them. There were two females in the litter, all black and white pups out of a B&W sire and B&W dam. The sire was the same dog that sired Harry. He was pretty old by this time, perhaps 12 or so, and the family thought he didn't have it in him to breed again. Nature finds a way, believe me. The dam was actually out of the same dam as Harry but from an earlier breeding. So Harry was the half-brother and the uncle to this newest litter.

I told the guy I was dating at the time that I was just going out to Provo to "look" at the puppies. I wasn't going to bring one home, no, they aren't ready, I'll just have a look. Sure, he said, sure.

So I drive down to Provo.


The floor of the kitchen and dining room was entirely covered with newspaper and a short expen kept the pups out of the carpeted living room. The litter was boiling around this space, fighting and tumbling and grunting and running and jumping--little did I know that fox terriers basically continue this their entire lives. The family pointed out the two females. I watched them for a while, then crouched down and made a soft kissing noise. One of the females came running straight up to me, looked me right in the eye, then turned and ran back to beat the tar out of one of her siblings.


I want that one, I said.


And to Harry's infinite relief (he is not a leader), Iz walked into my backyard that beautiful afternoon in May, 1999, and said, not to worry, I'm in charge now.


Iz, we miss you terribly. You are a song our heart sings.

Sleeping With Dogs

I can't remember sleeping alone. Or peeing alone, for that matter, but that's a story for another day. There's been a small cast of human partners sharing the bed stage now and then, but for the most part I've been sleeping with dogs for the past ten years.

Iz always slept with her head on the pillow next to mine. I have terrible insomnia, sleep lightly when I do sleep, and wake frequently. It was always a comfort to open my eyes, turn my head, and see her head next to mine. I could feel her warm body stretched out next to me, and I could smell that special dusty smell on the top of her head that was her smell. But as she became sicker, she needed to pull away and find her own space on the bed at night. I started missing my Iz sleeping next to me long before she actually left us.



Dyna has taken over that prime sleeping spot now. She moves around a lot at night but some part of her is always tucked into the space next to my pillow.

Harry has always slept on the bed with me (except for a few months when he was banished to a crate after he broke Lola's jaw at 3am--yet another story for another time). He continues to mourn the absence of his sister, and ever since Iz died, he has been glued to my side at night. No matter how much I toss and turn, Harry is velcroed to me like a burr. It is a comfort to be able to put my hand out and hug him to me, knowing that he understands, that he doesn't mind my waking him up for just a moment to make sure he is still there, still warm, still right beside me.

I've been crating the puppies from the beginning. Jack's daughters were just too wild to have on the bed at night. And after a while, it seemed reasonable to reduce the dog load and crate Jack at night too. He doesn't mind, really, and has been a very good sport about it.

But now that Iz is gone, the dog load has been reduced too much. Harry and Dyna are always pressed up against me, but with Iz gone, it just hasn't been enough.

So I've been hauling the pups into bed at night, one at a time, just for a couple of hours each. (I call them pups even though they turned three on September 1.) Both seem to understand what I want--they snuggle in right next to me (on the opposite side of me from Harry, of course), throwing off those deep terrier sighs of contentment as they drop off to sleep. Neither moves a hair for as long as I let them stay next to me--I always have to pick them up off the bed, warm and relaxed with sleep, and ease them back into their crates.

I can't imagine ever sleeping alone again. I sleep with dogs.

The Pack

I'm back home from my conference and the dogs are back home from the kennel. As expected, the tan and whites are all limping, but no bloody paws this time.

I always feel such a sense of relief when I get all my dogs back together in one place again. I think they feel the same. They are exhausted from the kennel but still follow me from room to room as I unpack and straighten the house, unwilling to let me out of their sight. As I write this, Jack, Gracie, and Dyna are clumped together on dog beds near my feet. Harry is on my bed, but he only has to lift his head to see me. Earlier, I was stretched out on the couch watching a bit of TV and Mimi was curled up between me and Jack with her head on my shoulder. Two of the cats were wedged in there too.

The world is right when all of the pack is home together.

But for me, the pack is not whole. It's been almost a month since I lost my Iz. I miss her terribly.


Harry has also been mourning. I'm not surprised by this but I don't think I anticipated the depth of his sadness. He gets up to eat and go out to potty, but lays back down as soon as he is done. He has been like this since we said goodbye to Iz. His body language expresses sadness, not the constant electric joy and engagement that fox terriers should have. There is nothing I can do or say to explain to him what happened. He knew she was sick, all of the dogs did because they were treating her differently towards the end. But how can I tell him Iz is not coming back, that the pack, that old pack, will never be whole. That we need to settle into a new pack.

When I'm asked how many dogs I have, I have to pause now and remember to say "five".

Every daily routine has a hole in it.

I'm still mourning too. Unless I'm at work with its endless distractions, I feel sad most of the time. But I have five dogs depending on me for those daily routines. And I have to look at the tired fox terriers scattered around the house tonight and think that it is good to have them here, tired and happy to be home with me too.

Isadora of Quicksilver 05/05/1999-08/01/2008