Tshunka is my dog, and she died on Purim 2011. Many people died on Purim, including Rabbi Guttman at our congregation, who was about 100, and a holocaust survivor. I didn’t know Rabbi Guttman well enough to write an article about him, but I wish I had. That day there were wars, riots and disasters in the world, and sickness and misfortune, and many died on Purim 2011. Why should I write about my dog?
I know my dog Tshunka, who was very beautiful, who is worthy to write about, not because her life or death is the biggest event in the world, but because she was a fine dog and the world is different with her gone. Other puppies will come along and brighten the world with their doggy ways, but it will never be like it was when Tshunka was here, even if you never knew about her, even though you may have much larger losses to mourn. I wish you peace and comfort.
Tshunka was black with gray spots, long hair, a border collie-australian shepherd mix, a very wise, charming, foxy and responsible kind of dog, a dog who knew her own mind and could figure things out on her own. But she would go against her own good judgment if you really insisted, because she was a dog, and dogs bind themselves to us.
I remember clearly the day I found Tshunka, almost 14 years ago. She was just a kid, about 7 months old, Fall 1997, in the pound. I was looking for a dog after I lost my collie Maggie. I had looked for her everywhere for months, and had finally given up on finding her. It was too sad and empty, not having a dog. I was going cage by cage, looking at all the doggy faces, some friendly and eager, some afraid, some sad and resigned. I wanted all the dogs but I was looking for a collie like Maggie. Suddenly I came upon this young dog, black with gray spots, a collie. I talked to her and petted her. The sign above her door said her temperament was medium, but she was a beautiful and charming dog. Next to her was another dog with a sweet disposition and soulful eyes. I began to talk and pet him, and Tshunka barked sharply, protesting. I laughed and went back to her, and she was mine.
Tshunka did the funny-horrible puppy things. I came into the bedroom one day to find it covered with bits of foam, and in the middle, a foam covered Tshunka, who had just taken apart the ex foam pillows. Horrible, but so funny, it was hard to get after her in a believable way. Tshunka never needed to be scolded or yelled at. It was always enough just to tell her.
One day Tshunka and I were riding in the car, sharing a Burger King lunch. It was summer, and the car windows were down. I put the bag on the floor, and Tshunka picked it up off the floor, looked at me with mischief in her face, and then tossed the bag out the window. I could hardly drive from laughing–she threw out the trash on purpose!
If my driving wasn’t up to par, if I swerved or ran over the rumble strip or stopped suddenly, she would look at me with a very disapproving expression. Tshunka, being so smart, didn’t like stupid.
Another time, I took all the dogs out for a run in the country, a few miles from home. Tshunka was a great hunter, and loved to run and explore. It was getting dark, and I called the dogs. Two came running, but where was Tshunka? I called, waited and looked for a long time, but no Tshunka. Anxiously I took the other dogs home and went back to look for Tshunka. I called her once and she came running, crying and afraid, and we were both very happy that we had found each other again.
One day I took the dogs walking in the Bosque near our house, and when it was evening I told the dogs it was time to head back to the car. Unfortunately, I got lost. I wandered in circles and kept ending up at the river instead of the road. Tshunka and Tip came up looking surprised and concerned–plainly something wasn’t going right. I asked them to go back to the car, and they both headed confidently off in the direction I thought was wrong. But I was the one who was lost, so I followed them anyways. They would get ahead of me, and Tshunka would come back to keep me going in the right direction, and we’d catch up with Tip who had stopped to wait for us. Finally they led me straight to the car, where Sam was already waiting. Such a welcome sight–the car and my three heroes.
We moved into our new house in the summer of 2001, when Tshunka was four. The property was fenced for horses, not dogs, and we were moving–things were in disarray. I went outside with a load of stuff, and there was Tshunka by the fence, joyfully doing in a chicken that had strayed into our yard. She looked so proud! But I hurriedly took and buried the poor chicken, for fear the chicken’s owner would see and we’d be in trouble our first day. It was very disappointing for Tshunka.
I have pictures of Tshunka, Sam and Tip together in the yard of our new house…it makes me wistful to see them.
Sam and Tshunka played fierce games of mock fighting. Sam would try to steal her dog cookies, and Tshunka would growl fiercely if she even thought about him coming after her cookies. Sometimes I would tell her she sounded like a crazy dog, growling so hard, and she would give her foxy smile. It was their favorite game through the years, and how I miss hearing Tshunka growling over her cookies, and Sam trying to pretend like he didn’t plan to take them.
The years passed and our dogs were middle aged and moving into old age, and life for them became routine…Tshunka was in charge of the house, Queen of all the dogs and keeper of order. I’ve gotten older in these fourteen years, and more tired and out of shape, spent years working long hours on the computer instead of outdoors. While Tshunka and all the dogs were ready and willing for adventures, I didn’t have the get up and go that I used to, to take them on long walks in the desert, and drives. I took them on little walks up and down our street, which they love, but it isn’t the same, and I wished I was like I was before.
Still through the last few years, Tshunka and Sam would go racing in our big yards, chasing the car up and down the fence, barking at all intruders, and merrily chasing our cat Thom into a corner, only to turn away laughing at the last minute.
Tshunka could beat us all in a walk, and would run around and circle us many times while me and Sam, who’s had arthritis and a bum hip for years, went slowly down the dirt road.
Then suddenly, in December, Tshunka began to limp. I could see no reason for it, and thought she had just hurt her leg running around, and it would heal. But it didn’t, it gradually got worse, and then her hip became badly dislocated. The vet said he couldn’t fix it. In a short time she couldn’t wag her tail and began to have trouble with her other back leg. Another vet tried to fix it and gave her medicine, but it didn’t help. Tshunka remained alert and patient, and often gave me her foxy smile, and sat up to see what was going on. She liked to go outside and lay in a soft spot, just like always, as the weather warmed into Spring. Sam would lay nearby, and stayed close to Tshunka until the end.
I got her a wheel chair in hopes it would help her get around and we could go on a walk down our dirt road again, and she could stay healthy for longer, but her health got steadily worse, and began to deteriorate quickly. I spent alot of time with her, sitting beside her, talking to her and taking care of her in the last couple of weeks.
And last night she was dying, and I sat beside her and gave her wine to make it easier for her, and told her that it was hard now, but soon it would be good again, that everything would be OK. I told her she would go to a fine new place, where she could run and never be tired, and never be sick. And I told her she should wait for me, because I would come to her, we would all come to her. It seemed to help her. A friend just wrote and said probably Tshunka knew that already. It made me laugh to think of that.
And so Tshunka always will be my girl, even now that she is gone and I have buried her little body in the middle of the night, under the full moon, out in the yard she loved, where she was so proud to get that chicken the day we moved in. Too soon it will be Sam…
Today the wind is howling and the dust is blowing, and I heard a dog bark down the street. It sounded like Tshunka’s sharp bark, like when I found her when she was just a little kid, and it made me cry again.
I realized I’m not only crying for Tshunka, though that would be enough, but for my father, for my family and friends, for all my other dogs that are gone, and for every sweet thing that used to be, but is no more.
