A Sad, Snowy Morning

I haven’t ever had to put a dog down before. All dogs are unique and Hank stood out in the kennel because of his shy nature, brillant golden eyes, and sudden decision to dart out of his house for attention. When I first met him he stayed in his house the entire time I was in the yard. The first time I fed him he cautiously came out of his house for enough time to grab his dish with his teeth and quickly return to the refuge of his spool. This went on for a week or so and at times I would glance over his way and find him tentatively watching me feed and water the other dogs. As soon as I came near, though, he retreated inside. After two weeks of such behavior and other moves of bravery like coming out to sniff my hand for a moment, or laying outside while I was on the other side of the kennel he decided that I was O.K. The next time I came over to feed him he darted out and danced around me like he had never even been shy. From that day forward Hank and I were buds. I had proved myself trustworthy. Hank was always shy at the mountain and for some reason clients gravitate toward our shy dogs- who really want nothing to do with them. When a pesky client would not leave him alone I could walk over and Hank would come bounding up for a hug, relieved to have someone familiar around. I did not think I would become as attached as I did to any of these dogs. When we had to put him down I cried a lot. I expected to experience the death of a dog at some point while working with a hundred or so, but you never are prepared. The loss made me sad. It is obvious, but I haven’t felt such a genuine sadness like that in a while. It seems like any loss moves me into a place where I can connect with other losses I’ve experienced in my life. That night after he died the dogs howled as usual. But I knew as I lay in my bed that there was one less dog out there participating in the nightly ritual. I teared up at the thought and continued to cry as I fell asleep. I felt heavy the next day and so did the others. The event weighed on us and the work on the mountain seemed tedious and slow. We all walked noticeably slower and spoke with more reserve. We intentionally brought up Hank’s brothers, Mickey and Willie. They bear a striking resemblance to Hank and looking at them brought us some sort of peace. The day after he died we awoke to a snow covered desert. Snow is magical and the covering brought us a smile and sense of peace concerning the events of the night before. It has been a few days now and we are not as sad, but Hank's house is still empty. It will be for awhile. In time another dog will move in, but probably not until after I leave. To Hank...