Dogs of the North The Pack Kierkegaard

In Memoriam

She has been gone for three years now, but I still imagine that I hear the jingling of her tags. Her collar hangs with the leashes for my living dogs, because to remove it seems somehow untrue to the place she still holds in my heart. I think of her every day, and I miss her happy presence and intelligent ways.

Kierkegaard was named after, of all things, a little guinea pig I had in college when I lived in student housing that wouldn't allow pets. Though she bore nothing in common with the melancholy Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard, I enjoyed telling those who asked about her Heinz 57 heritage, that she was really a Great Dane. Scheduled for euthanasia as a three month old pup, she came into my life when I visited a local shelter, fell in love with her, and took her home. Perhaps it was because she understood that her narrow escape from death was at my hands, that she forgave me the many mistakes I made in raising her. I know much more now about canine ways, and she is responsible for much of my learning.

This dog was by far the most intelligent animal I have ever met. Her vocabulary encompassed over 250 words or phrases, including the proper names of all the other animals in my house. My father would talk to Kierkegaard on the phone every Sunday afternoon, going down the list of each pet in the house and saying, "Is (name of pet) good?" If Kierk thought they were, she would bark. If she was silent, he would ask, "Is (name of pet) bad?" and she would bark her response. The thing was, she seemed to be always right! If someone had been naughty, she would report the fact. The exception to this game was my cat, Grendel. For some reason, in Kierk's mind, Grendel was always bad. I suspect it was her idea of a joke on this young cat who had an annoying habit of playing with her tail!

Kierkegaard was my best friend. She was a uniquely compassionate creature, who once befriended a wounded goose and defended it against a neighbor's dog which was much larger and more powerful than she was. In the same manner, she twice protected me from attack; once from a would be mugger and once from the boyfriend of a parishioner whom I was removing from an abusive situation. For the most part a friendly, overgrown pup, Kierk became fiercely protective when those she cared about were threatened.

When new creatures came to the house, Kierk looked after them. She took them under paw and mothered them and taught them the ways of the house. It was as if she wasn't fulfilled without someone to take care of. In her old age, that need was filled by the puppy Adam. Kierk was absolutely certain that Adam was a special gift I had brought home for her. Adam, too, seemed to think of himself as much hers as mine. When she lay in her bed that last weekend of her life, he brought her his favorite toy, that no one but him was allowed to play with, and lay it beside her as she slept, as if comforting this fine old friend with the best he had to offer as the hour of her death drew near.

There simply are not enough words in the universe to tell of all the fun Kierk and I had together. We went camping, took trips, played ball, you name it. My friend, Claudia Slovacek, would sometimes call up and ask if Kierk was going to be free on such and such a day, then pick her up and take her to parades or to garage sales with her. I'd look out the door and see Claudia drive away with Kierk next to her on the front seat, staring out the passenger window on her way to that day's social engagement!

She loved my parents. My dad and she formed a special bond. Once I made the mistake of telling her that "tomorrow we're going to go to Grandpa's house and you can play in his yard." She woke me up for the twelve hour drive at two A.M. because she understood what I had said and was eager to go. She kept tossing her ball in my bed and barking.

In the last year of her life, Kierk suffered a number of health problems, which necessitated bi-weekly blood tests and heavy duty immune suppressive drugs. She accepted it all with grace, good spirit, and an insatiable curiosity. I once heard a student at the University of Minnesota Veterinary Teaching Hospital refer to her as "The Happy Dog," as that is how she had come to be known. When Kierkegaard went deaf, I taught her about thirty words in American Sign Language. She had a blast! That intelligent, inquisitive mind of hers just loved to learn. So, taking her handicap in stride, she thrived on the fun of learning a new language. She was devious, too. During her period of deafness, she would simply look away from me when I signed her a command she didn't want to obey. She knew that if she couldn't see me, she didn't have to listen! And when, to everybody's amazement she got her hearing back, she would pretend to be deaf if she didn't want to do what I told her.

Kierk died of a tumor pressing on her heart. She was happy till the end, despite her discomfort, wagging that tail of hers that never stopped. If I could strive for one thing in life, it would be a spirit as faithful and loving as hers. If I could tap just a measure of her courage and compassion, perhaps I, as she, might leave this tired old world a somewhat better place.

She was the best.

Read about Luke.