Besides lizards, snakes and fish, the only major pet I had before Zen (my wolf-hybrid), was Bear Dog. Where to start?
Bear Dog was one of seven pups in the litter. Another was stillborn but all six of Bear’s littermates were each pitch black, some with white boots or stars. Bear Dog was snow white and not an albino. He had brown points on his ears and tail with black lips and nose as well. He was what is known as a “genetic sport” or random breed. My brother owned Bear’s mother, Moondance. She was rumored to have been a Shepherd, Keeschond and coyote mix. I tend to believe this, as Bear Dog was simply one of the smartest animals I’ve ever seen.
Bear would learn tricks without any food rewards. In his prime, he had a vocabulary of over 60 (count them), yes sixty, tricks. He sneezed, smiled and barked on command. He was trained to eat, drink, whizz and crap on command. He could jump through hoops and would do Rin Tin Tin dives off of the Berkeley Marina boat dock. He tracked scents and went camping with me frequently, including an excursion into the Grand Canyon.
He was once left behind in the campground while my gal and I rafted the South Fork of the American River. Our boat passed the camp and (with a little back paddling) Bear Dog swam out to the raft and shot the last few rapids with us. He probably even saved the life of a woman who took care of him for a while. Bear’s presence at the door warded off a serial rapist who was found floating in the Santa Cruz harbor weeks later.
I managed to save Bear’s life when he got a gastric torsion. I had just read about this in Dr. Miller’s newspaper based animal health column and (much to my vet’s amazement) managed to correctly diagnose it. Bear’s German Shepherd blood came back to haunt him in the end. Hip dysplasia began to take its toll in the last few years. Prednisone helped a lot and my vet was exceptional in assisting me to maintain Bear’s quality of life.
Just a few weeks after I had moved into the house I now live in, I finally had to start carrying Bear up and down the stairs in and out of the house. On April 25 of 1989, I patiently carried him down the back steps and laid him next to his water and food bowls. As I lugged him down the back porch steps, I held him up to my face and kissed the top of his furry head to let him know that I in no way resented having to help him out with the stairs. When I came home that evening, he had died.
I sat next to his body and howled like a wounded wolf as night fell in the sky and my in own shredded heart. My friend, Mike, brought over a fifth of Johnny Walker Black and let me tell him stories about Bear Dog until midnight. To this day, in my liquor cabinet is an old fifth of Johnny Walker Black Label that has lovingly been refilled for almost two decades. Anyone who drinks from it unknowingly toasts Bear’s passing almost twenty years ago.
By strange coincidence, just a few weeks before Bear died, some high vacuum equipment had arrived at my workplace in a very nice pine box. I saved the crate aside on principle. It fit Bear Dog perfectly. Cold comfort was that particular guess.
Bear Dog was born on Derby Street in Berkleley, California on the Friday before Halloween of 1973. After he left me, I brought him all the way up from San Jose in that pine crate. A girlfriend and I hauled his coffin and a shovel up into the Berkeley Hills overlooking the house that he was born in. He is buried on a hillside that looks over his birthplace on Derby Street.
Someday soon, I need to bring Zen for a visit to Bear’s grave.
By some cosmic mystery, in May of 1998, the same brother whose dog was Bear’s mother (now long gone) called me and mentioned how there was a free puppy available that looked a lot like Bear Dog. I drove up to the Russian River, north of San Francisco and found Zen waiting for me. Unlike Bear Dog, Zen’s ears stand up. Otherwise, they are nearly indistinguishable from each other. They both have a playful and curious personality. Zen is a little more protective, something I chalk up to his wolf blood and late adoption. However, they seem to have been cut from the same cloth. If ever I thought about having Bear Dog back in my life, nature has indeed over-generously rewarded me with Zen. It is as if Bear Dog has come back to me once more. I am careful to avoid imposing remembrances or expectations of Bear onto Zen because of how similar they are.
I count myself as truly fortunate to have a wonderful creature like Zen in my life. He has matured into a fine and healthy animal. Zen is up at around 20-30 commands and just continues to get better and better. Zen is a joy to own and serves me faithfully for reasons only he alone understands. I do not know what I shall do when he departs (other than nearly kill myself crying). I’m hoping that I will have a wife and children by then. I want my kids to have memories of Zen. He is priceless.
