Goodbye Summer

It feels like now is the right time to finally write this piece. The beginning of September marks the end of summer, meteorologically speaking. If you’re a child returning to school it’s the end of vacation. Astronomically, the end of summer falls on September 22, leading us into the autumnal equinox. All that to say, Summer is gone. Our Summer.

Two weeks ago, we said goodbye to our sweet Summer. I will spare you the details of her passing. It was a devastating situation with escalating symptoms, thorough testing, head-scratching theories from the vets and prescribed medications. What began as a concern that something wasn’t right picked up speed into a living nightmare. All unfolding in under ten days. My heart is heavy articulating the loss we are going through, but the followers of my Grizzlybearma blog need to know.

My blogging began the day we decided to bring home two aussiedoodle puppies. Summer was one half of the catalyst to my commitment into writing. Her brother Koda was the other half. Grizzlybearma was my way of documenting the adventures of raising two puppies at once. What started as a daily record of the happenings of the dogs evolved into commentary about motherhood and family. The puppies were our babies just as our nest was emptying of our fourth child. It was his senior year in high school that we brought home the “replacements.”

Backing up, Summer and Koda were actually filling a different void. In 2017 we lost our fourteen year old Australian shepherd Dot. She had truly been the herder of our four rambunctious young children. She was the dog that raised them, like my Lucy (a springer spaniel) that I grew up with. Lucy saw me through kindergarten days up until college living in the same house on Nordstrom Lane. She slept in the shade all day and wandered the neighborhood. My sister and I played a game of standing on opposite sides of the driveway calling to her, to compete for who she would come to. “Looooosey, Lucy, LaaaOOOOseeee, Lucy!” I think I won most of the time. When I brought home my new boyfriend (now husband) to meet my parents the spring of my freshman year, I stepped out of the car and called out for Lucy. “Lucy, LaaaOOOOseee, Lucy!” The horrified look on my mom’s face said it all. She’d waited to tell me in person. Our sweet Lucy was no longer with us. Pretty upsetting, and awkward for my new boyfriend (now husband) to see me sobbing and being consoled by my apologetic mother. 

While my husband never got to meet the dog who raised me, he understood. His own childhood had a few four-legged pals. Listing those dogs was a bit like telling me his history. From Slatsie when he was in preschool to Pansy and Cricket in college (and a couple others in between). These pets were more than our companions; they followed us, taught us responsibilities, gave us something to look forward to when we came up the driveway after school, ate the food we didn’t want to finish, barked at strangers at the door, or other dogs on the street, to keep us safe. They loved us without asking for much more than a little attention. Scratching the fur behind her neck. Taking her for a walk. Giving her expected treats like greenies. 

Mornings are the hardest for me. I wake up, and it hits me. I see her humanlike aussiedoodle eyes and scruffy whiskers. Summer always started the night on the floor, and by morning she’d make her way to the space on our bed between us (practically on top of us). I miss her so much. We all do.

Summer was the alpha to our herd. Her littermate/brother Koda was her follower. While Koda was the vocal, “sound the alarm” dog (like in 101 Dalmations), Summer was the fearless leader. Half australian shepherd and half poodle, Summer was more aussie and Koda more poodle. Summer watched over the herd at all times, she slept near the door and she was first to greet every visitor. At the same time, Summer was a big lover, a sloppy kisser and a proximity crosser (albeit slowly). 

When we made the decision to get two sibling puppies eight years ago, this was one of the things I feared would happen one day—their separation. I just thought it would be at least another eight years from now. This was shocking, and sadly, not the only grief we have been dealing with this summer season. I’d yet to write about this other loss because it too has broken our hearts. Our maine coone Ruger passed away suddenly, literally in our arms, of suspected cardiac arrest. One minute he was cruising around us like normal and the next he went still. That traumatic morning in May will haunt me forever. I couldn’t write about Ruger much less talk about him. Then Summer.

As humans, we are navigating these losses the way we do. Burying them out in the beautiful designated spot in the pasture. Honoring them with reflection and gratitude. Rereading the blog I kept that chronicled the early days. Talking about funny memories. And finding a way to move on with a smaller herd, a quieter house, an unused food bowl and more space on the bed. 

But what about Koda and Sansa? Through conversations with our vet and google, I learned some things about animals and loss. I had wondered what Koda was experiencing. It is a myth that dogs cannot tell how much time has elapsed in one’s absence. It seems like the tail wagging after ten minutes happens as much as it does two hours later. That is actually untrue. Dogs can tell time of an absence because of scent decay. Their owners (and other pets in the house) leave a trail of unique smells: skin cells, oils, sweat and breath chemicals. As soon as we leave, the concentration begins to drop. There is the expected threshold of our scent decay during the day when we exit the house, which typically leads the dogs and cats to wait somewhere near the door for our anticipated arrival. When Kevin travels for work, the animals tend to congregate near the front door as the time grows longer. They must be thinking, “He should be home soon.” When I approach the door after being gone running errands, the herd is waiting (looking through the windows). 

It’s been two weeks now. I have observed changes in Koda and Sansa. The tabby cat is hanging closer to us and has become more vocal at times. Koda is like glue to me inside of our house. When I let him into the backyard, I see him pause after a few steps. I think he’s remembering Summer. The two of them would run down the deck stairs and travel the fence line of the yard together, sniffing and barking at the horses and goats. While Summer’s scent chemicals may no longer exist in the environment, there are the ingrained routines that surface the void left by packmembers. For Koda, maybe it’s the running out in the yard, and for me, it’s the morning greeting at my pillows. We miss Summer. For the record, Ruger was also a morning greeter. I woke up many times to him staring me in the face on my nightstand.

We affectionately refer to our animals here as “the herd” because it makes sense with two horses, seven goats, three chickens, a barn cat, a tabby cat, a maine coone, and two aussiedoodles. Our herd is now smaller. 

If you have been with me along this grizzlybearma journey, this loss may hit your heart hard. To remember all the joy our sweet Summer brought us, all you have to do is go back through the archives of my blog. 

Summer, I smile thinking of the playfulness you brought to our family. I thank you for bridging me into the world of writing. I yearn for just one more of your Summer sloppy whisker kisses. You were a dog who had no regard for personal boundaries and loved us. We will always love you too!