Life Is Joyous; Life Is Cruel

When I included a photo of Smokey on my Christmas post last month, I knew he was sick, but I didn’t know how bad it was. In fact, beneath that gorgeous coat of his he had lost 20 percent of his body weight in two months. We were desperately trying to feed him anything he would eat but it turned out his digestive system had simply shut down and he died the day after New Years.

Smokey was born on April 1 2011 and saw his first snow in May 2011.

Having gone through this before, I thought it would be easier, but it’s not. I’m not religious, but the best way I can describe it is I feel like I’ve lost part of my soul.

Smokey in August 2011.

One difference is that his predecessor, Chip, was “our dog,” while Smokey was totally imprinted on me. No matter what the distraction, he would come running any time I called. In a classic example of “dog math,” if I left him at home with other people and dogs, he considered himself completely alone until I returned. Now I’m the one who feels alone.

Smokey in November 2011.

As with Chip, Smokey’s main job was to see that I got outdoors at least three times a day. Some days we would just walk a few miles on the beach or in the Deschutes National Forest. Some days we would climb high into the mountains.

Smokey in January 2012.

He was also happy to go on cross-country ski trips as well as mountain biking trips.

Smokey in June 2013.

Smokey and Chip were Belgian Tervurens, a breed that is essentially identical to Belgian Malinois (popular as police dogs that have somehow become famous for their jumping abilities) except for the longer coat. Part of the breed standard for Tervurens is that they are “usually in motion.”

Smokey on our way to the top of Sutton Mountain, 2022.

We went on many nice hikes in 2023, but our last epic adventure was in 2022 when we scaled a 1,000-foot, 40 percent slope as part of a 16.5-mile exploration of Sutton Mountain.

Smokey in December 2020.

We knew something was wrong with Smokey that summer, but what we did wasn’t enough to stop his cancer. I feel like I let him down, but it may be there was little that could have been done even then.

Smokey in front of Mount Washington in May 2023.

I am grateful that he was with us for more than 12 years and just wish it could have been a few years more.

My last photo of Smokey. I tried to get him to stand but, under his elegant fur coat, Smokey was skin and bones and I think he sat down for stability in the coastal winds on December 27.