Bart-a-bok. Bear-de-doo. Bearje. Boorgurgeboo. One who went by many names passed away today.

About 14 and a half years ago, my parents were out of town and my grandma was in the market for a new puppy. My sister and I jumped in the car with Oma and headed up north from our cabin in Brainerd, MN to a farm which had left an add in the paper saying they had six puppies up for adoption. One thing led to another, and not only did Oma adopt a dog, but so did I. I was 17 and my parents were not consulted. Nor were they pleased when they came home from their trip a few days later and found a new puppy in the house.

My parents were upset with me (and I can’t imagine what they had to say to Oma who let me leave that place with a dog) but they let me keep her because she was such a good dog.  She was easy to train and sharp as a tack.  Everyone she met fell in love with her. Here are a few of my favorite memories of her.

She was still a puppy when winter hit; at the time I was Nordic ski racing very seriously, so I typically spent 2 or 3 hours per day on skis during the week, and 8-10 hours per day on the weekends.  Obviously, that was too long to keep a puppy in-doors, so I often took her skiing with me.  Being a skier meant that I took the condition of the groomed trails very seriously, and I didn’t want her running on the tracks.  Within the first afternoon skiing with her, she learned to run alongside me in the ungroomed snow, avoiding the trails.  I’ll never forget gliding along with her running at my side.

When she was younger, she was very protective of our family and ferociously barked and growled at anyone who came to the door.  By the time my graduation party came along, she was still too jumpy to allow her into the party, so I had to lock her in my room upstairs.  At first, she was barking and whining constantly but eventually, she quieted down.  A few hours into the party, she was so quiet we decided to let her out and see how she did.  She was so relieved to be allowed into the party that she behaved herself perfectly and didn’t make a peep.  Ever since, she was perfectly socialized, charming the pants off anyone who came to our house.

When I went to college, my parents took over as Bear’s primary caretakers.  My dad is a professor and did a six-month exchange program with a University in France.  As Michelle and I couldn’t watch her in our apartment, my parents brought her to my Aunt’s house near Amsterdam to stay while they were away.  My aunt had a dog as well, Boomie, and the two tolerated each other but did not particularly care for one another.  Poor Boomie was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so Bear ended up taking advantage of him, often framing him for her crimes.  Her finest hour was when she ate an entire roast off my Aunt’s countertop.  The roast was resting under tin foil, and after Bear finished her stolen feast, she carried the sullied tin foil over to Boomie’s basket and laid it there to be found.

Some years later, Michelle and I got our own puppy (Mack) and had to move into an apartment that allowed dogs.  Obviously, at this point we were able to watch Bearje for my parents when they were gone.  As a young dogg, Mack was wound tighter than a drum.  He absolutely would not ever, under any circumstances, sit still for even a moment (like he’s doing right now, by the way).  One weekend, we watched Bearje and she just sat at our feet and was the most mellow and sweetest dogg ever.  Michelle and I realized how much company having a dogg could really be like; how nice it was to have a mellow dogg to hang out with.

They call this feeling I have “heartbreak” and it is amazing that my heart really does hurt.