Moose: Woman's Best Friend

Moose

He’s in his sunset years and final days my 14 year old friend, Moose. That translates to 98 people years.

Robert Rich knocked on our door 13 years ago one cold and blustery January morning. The boys and I were in the school room tending to our home school duties. Robert added a rich diversion. With him was a smiling, lop eared dog with a big, black rubber hoop in his mouth. He offered us his right paw in greeting.

Moose loved us immediately and we him. “Your boys need this dog.” Robert explained that Moose lived in an apartment complex and followed his owner through the streets to work everyday. His owner feared Moose would be killed in traffic. We would be his 3^rd family. Taught since he was a pup to retrieve little stuffed animals, he would give real kittens and puppies the same shake when he retrieved them thereby inducing death. So the first owner gave him up due to his innocent yet murderous tendencies.

Dog is defined by Webster’s as “a highly carnivorous domesticated mammal probably descended from the common wolf.” That is a far cry from my definition. Here is my revised definition at least according to Moose: “a devoted friend and companion that always sees the best in you and is a continual optimist; A four footed critter that forgives, forgets and loves unconditionally; An indefatigable lop eared, tail and tongue wagging cockamamie endearing member of the family.” That definition is still not even close to defining our special relationship with “man’s best friend.”

There is so much to my relationship with my dog. He’s not just a carnivorous domesticated mammal; he’s a huge part of the family as our pictorial history attests. Moose grew up with the boys. You cannot separate Moose from my boy’s childhood. He was there. He took his self imposed role of protector very seriously. If we only knew how many times he protected us. He accompanied us on every creek trip, bike ride and other family ventures. “Load up, Moose” is all you’d have to say. Wild horses couldn’t have kept him at home. “Creek?” and he would cock his head and load up. He was always privy to when we started loading up the truck with creek gear.

Hauling hay was a special time. Moose was always at the top of the heap along with the boys barking and wagging encouragement.

Contrary to what we had been told, Moose was the quintessential Mother. In fact, we would affectionately call him “Mother Moose.” We raised a host of baby animals through the years including day old chicks, baby raccoons with their eyes still fused shut, kittens, birds, puppies, one unfortunate orphaned skunk and a hyper squirrel. The only one he really wanted to sink his carnivorous teeth into was the rapscallion teen aged squirrel we hosted briefly. Maybe it was just because he was a teenager…. Moose would groom them all and keep an ever watchful eye out. He took his self appointed job very seriously. All babies were safe while Moose was on duty.

He also kept a watchful eye out for his humans. Admiring and picking flowers in my garden one day, Moose went ballistic putting himself between me and a nesting skunk. He sacrificially took a blast in the mouth to save me the insult. If a snake wandered in our direction, Moose was there weaving in and out, snarling and biting to protect us. He gave the alert if any critters came within the confines of his territory. He’d let us know if there was an armadillo or opossum on the prowl.

He loves a party still. The more people, especially children, the merrier is Moose. Of course, parties mean handouts and discarded or dropped food. He continues to be on the prowl and possessive over his food.

Moose and his hoops were inseparable. He would allow you to throw the hoop on his terms; only if he deposited it at your feet were you allowed to throw. Otherwise there was no way he would relinquish his beloved hoop to you. He would choose if, when and by whom it was thrown. People would take great delight in picking up Moose by his hoop and twirling him in circles. There was always a tug of war game going on and Moose was always the victor.

The body grows weary and faint of heart. All those ferocious dog fights, gun shots, all those millions of miles chasing cars have taken their toll on my old dog. He is old and full of years. He, too, shall go the way of the world soon and I will shed many a tear.

I thank God for my animal friends and embrace the adage “Lord, help me be the person my dog thinks I am!” And here is my own prayer: “Lord, help me to love others unconditionally like you and my dog love me.”

Our friends bring out the best in us….

Addendum: Moose would not give up the fight; he wouldn't willingly leave me. Rick and I drove him to town. The vet came out to the truck. Moose laid down, stretched out his leg, looked at me and let out one long breath. And he was gone. Yes, I cried but I was so ready for him to not suffer any more; I had cried over his impending death for months. We drove straight home, put him in the wheelbarrow and wheeled him to his prepared grave he had watched us dig. We buried him and said a prayer of thanksgiving to God for the gift of Moose's life. And, then, before I was ready, God sent me another dog: Cowboy.

Blessings to your day!