Eleven years ago my family had to put down our dog. She was a fourteen-year-old Siberian Husky with a rare form of mouth cancer. Chey was the glue that held us together. When we let her go, we were all heart broken. I was only ten years old, but I took it the hardest. Chey was my confidant and my cuddle buddy. Two weeks after her death we could not resist adopting a new one.
Quinn came into our lives and brightened our world all over again. At just eight months old, he had an odd resemblance to Chey. They were almost identical in looks, but their personalities were completely different. Chey was mellow and quiet. Quinn has gained his voice over the past eleven years and is definitely not afraid to share his feelings. Like most puppies, he wrecked everything in sight. He pooped on floors, chewed on shoes and underwear, and would occasionally escape from the house and run away for an hour or two. That’s when we learned that he needed to be kept on a leash and even then he would still sneak out sometimes. What can I say? Quinn was an independent man who wanted to hang out with his own friends and do his own thing.
He became my best bud. When I went off to college, weekends and holidays home were like a magical reunion. As soon as he saw me he would pounce around like the puppy he pretended to be. I would get kisses and groans and feelings of appreciation for coming to see him again. At the same time I could see that he felt betrayed. When I looked at his face and saw his eyebrows move as he looked away from me, I knew he was thinking, “Why do you leave me?”
When my senior year of college came, my dad needed help taking care of Quinn. He worked long hours and his landlord was sick of Quinn’s need for attention. I was annoyed and our phone call ended with me saying, “I don’t know what to tell you. Figure it out.” Ten minutes later I guiltily texted my dad back and said, “Bring him up tomorrow.” After consulting my roommates they both agreed that it was going to be fine to have a dog and assured me that they would help me take care of him. What was supposed to be a month of living with Quinn turned into two semesters.
In the beginning I was nervous. It was my last year of college and I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible without having many responsibilities. Having a dog in college was not the plan. It turned out way better than expected though. Since Quinn was older, he was trained for the most part. Aside from the digging through trash, begging for food, and selective listening to commands, he was a good dog. He loved to be pet, almost constantly. A common trait amongst huskies is that they are very talkative. If a friend of mine was petting him and stopped, he would whimper and wait for them to proceed, then bark if he didn’t get his way. He always let us know when he had to go potty, even if it was 3 AM and you were dead asleep. Everyone knew that the heavy pant meant if you didn’t get your butt out of bed in five seconds, he would start growling. He wouldn’t eat his food unless someone was in the kitchen sitting there with him, and every time someone said the words ride, walk or treat he would jump and yelp until you held up to it.
My relationship with Quinn became strong mostly because he would listen to me complain about human problems and while yes he did talk back, it was never anything bad. I rubbed his belly and took him out when needed. I always made sure that he felt loved even when he didn’t want my hugs or kisses and he made me feel like someone was always there. He had the mannerisms and personality of a human, but without all the bullshit. He was my best friend and the boy that I could always rely on.
Quinn has followed me on our most recent journey of adulthood, the post grad job search. He is now solely my dog and I cannot go anywhere without him. We have a resilient bond. He knows me and I know him. He is my four legged, furry friend forever.
