Tribute to Tahoe

It was the Spring of 2013 when Tahoe came into our lives. Both our pitbull Mendo (Mendocino) and Shepherd Rottweiler mix Desmo (Desmondo) were getting older. Both dogs only followed me and Craig around the property, and with living in the mountains with lots of wildlife, including bears and mountain lions, we needed a dog that would sit with and follow the girls. A local known for breeding pure bred Shepherd’s was contacted and we soon picked up our new addition to the family. I wasn’t thrilled. I had two little ones, one of the cats (Koppa) had just passed, and I knew our two aging mountain dogs would not take kindly to being replaced. When we got home from town with Tahoe, old grandma Mendo came outside the front door, stood on the porch, calmly walked down the steps, bit Tahoe on the nose, and went back inside to bed. His welcome was received as expected. It took quite some time for Mendo to accept this little one; so much bad behavior from a pup learning the life of a mountain dog. Mendo was impatient and when she saw I wasn’t going to attend to his puppy behavior, she would discipline him herself. Tahoe learned quickly to just lay beneath the truck or picnic table, and clear out of her way. Desmo was completely uninterested, but he too wasn’t at all warm. It was a rough go for our sweet Tahoe, and it was painful to see it all unfolding. Lots of work for a woman three miles up a dirt road with young daughters, a homestead and husband, and animals that needed guidance and love. It of course came around, but it was work, as most things worth it in this world are.

I suppose at first I wasn’t as warm to him as I could have been. I knew that then and now. I was tired is all, and though there was much love and kindness given, Tahoe was just one more thing for me to tend to. What was I to do with another dog, a puppy at that, while doing everything else? Though it saddened me I couldn’t give him everything I did when I was childless (Mendo and Desmo came before the family), I could feel Tahoe was learning the ways of hill life and learning his role with his girls. Then the day came when Tahoe came into his own; with me and with the other dogs. The girls and I walked to the wild blackberry patch on the upper road, between the homestead gate and the curtilage gate. We settled into our spot and began gathering berries with all three dogs about. I smelled the bear before the dogs; and when they got scent they all took off up the road towards it. Tahoe got about 15-20 feet, turned back to look at me and the girls, and proceeded to run back to us and sit at our side. As a Shepherd his place with the flock combines both guarding and herding, and that single move on his part completely changed his role within our family and his pack.

Though his position had shifted tremendously, this gentle giant remained soft and sweet with his aging peers. He always deferred to Mendo and Desmo, though twice the size and strength, he radiated respect to his elders. This made him even stronger mentally, and in our eyes we were humbled and awed with his incredible restraint and respect. His booming bark and his forward facing fearless faith in protecting his family was one to be recognized and applauded; his job was to be between his girls and the threat, and he did that his entire life flawlessly. Mountain life is full of just that; life, and with big animals out and about, our property, perimeter, and us were always secure thanks to him. His place was always to be working, which made me sad sometimes. Some breeds take their job so seriously and his eyes would often be filled with what looked like worry.

Though there is much to be done and to do on a homestead when you’re Tahoe, there were more moments of laughter and love than work. For years he was my morning run companion and the guide on our family evening walks. He’d run ahead to secure the way, then circle back to make sure we were keeping up. And anyone who has had a Shepherd knows how vocal they are, all bark bark bark when we’d first get going; Tahoe so excited for what lay ahead he wanted so badly to tell you how happy he was. “Woof woof woof” echoing off the mountains and through the forest, letting all the beings know it was time for his daily movement throughout his land to ensure all was well and as it should be. So much pride he had for his job and his family, stopping to sniff and mark his spots, returning home beaming with happiness and his tongue hanging out.

When he relaxed he was a big goofball, and he loved playing fetch because he would never return the stick, so we’d have to chase him which brought him endless joy (we never could catch him). At his peak he was 100lbs and as long as the width of the truck. He was BIG and aesthetically stunning. People would wave and smile as we drove by because of his strength and beauty, and as a woman with girls, I loved how intimidating he was. We all knew he was a gentle giant, but his instincts were clear and he could read a situation and person with acute precision. The feeling of safety Tahoe imbued upon me and our family was similar to the dogs that had come before, but truth be told it was different. He was all in with us, no hesitation, no other thought. His family and his homestead was the light of his life and his energy was just so uniquely centered on us. In these few days since his death, I have been reviewing his life and what exactly set him apart. This is how I can best explain it. When we are out tending to the land and chores, though the dogs were with us, they would be sleeping or sniffing about. With Tahoe, when you looked for him, he would be looking at you. Whether he was next to you, down the garden row, at the top of the road or hill, he was there; looking at you. It was the most incredible feeling knowing this sweet big dog was literally watching over us.

As an adult, I’ve been lucky to have had four dogs (our coydog Taki is still with us), six cats, 26 chickens and like most moms, I did a few rounds of goldfish for my girls too (the one we won at the Fortuna Rodeo turned out to be a koi fish and its happily living in a pond in Salmon Creek). My cup has always runneth over and though at times I feel as some of us women, wives, and mothers do, I am so so grateful for all the life that surrounds me and depends on me. Not only to do all the necessary things, but also for all the love along the way. LOVING OTHER BEINGS MEANS LOVING THEM. And this means there are times along the way that will hurt. This is an honor. This is what living and being present in a relationship feels like. It’s so beautiful and that beauty in itself is what makes it so painful. To fully grasp how important love is and to see it come full circle in a decade plus long relationship with your pup is a gift from God. Animals offer us such lessons; from themselves, but also as a mirror of yourself. How well you loved, how you could have loved more, where you did things right and where you could do things different in the future. All relationships in our lives have the potential to teach us these things, but the relationship between dog and man is undeniable different. And what is it exactly that breaks our hearts more? How much we loved them, or how much they loved us?

It was early this month our sweet Tahoe was guided to heaven by the light of the lunar full moon. He did the rounds with Craig in the dark and came back to his bed on the porch that overlooked his world. When he was called to come inside he made it to the front porch, unable to get past the front door. We stayed there with him for a bit and told him he could go. He would lift his head up and with childlike bewilderment he would look around. He looked so much like a puppy in those last few hours. Craig brought him inside and not wanting to add any more strangeness to his monumental moment, we sat and gently spoke to him with love and then we went to bed. He was outside our bedroom door, and when Craig sat up to look at him, Tahoe was looking back. He laid down again on his side, as did we, and when we got up around 3am he was gone. He did everything right in this life, and I prayed often his death would be as dignified and gentle as he was. His last gift to us was more beautiful than I could have imagined, protecting us from more grief through his peaceful passage and ensuring one last time we felt safe and loved. Oh Tahoe, our sweet old man. I’ll see you on our beloved walk.