Iceman

"Iceman"

The pic I have up on my profile got a lot of comments when I first put him up there. My dogs' name was "ICE" and he was my main man. I have since explained to a few people why his pic won't come off...for a long time. But blogging is an addiction with me and I think my main man earned his place here on myspace...here is his story....

I worked part-time at a pet food store during college. Aside from the great discount that afforded us to have 2 dogs, 5 rats, 3 rabbits and 1 cat as pets...it was a store where patrons and employees alike could bring their animals into the store (leash required :) Now, I'm a softy when it comes to animals...and I will go WAY out of my way to help them in any way I can. I first saw Ice on the store's notice board where people could sell/swap/pets and pet equipment. I love northern breed dogs (Siberian Huskies, Alaskan Malamutes, Norwegian Elkhounds, etc...pretty much anything with a curly tail) and Ice stood out. Pure white and BIG...98lbs. It was a black and white photo but I had to take it home and beg permission to go check him out. Two big dogs in a small house is hard enough...adding a third REALLY big dog was going to take some smoothe talking...and I ain't a smoothe talker. We agreed to go check him out. Turns out he came from a dog sled farm (a vacation place where you dogsled from one cabin to another with a guide) and couldn't cut it anymore for some reason. The man who took him in kept him seperate from the rest of his 14 dog team because he "...just couldn't fit in with his dogs." Ice was 9 years old and our first glimpse broke our hearts: White fur stained dark grey, top 1" of his ears scabbed over, collar dirty and moldy enough that the original color was impossible to tell, teeth dark and stained, matts and scabs over much of his body, nose bone dry and scabbed, eyes showing no life and he was depressed. (Anybody who thinks that animals don't know depression are FUCKED IN THE HEAD).

We asked for a minute alone to discuss what we wanted to do and as soon as we were alone it was decided that he was coming with us. There was NO fucking way he was staying where he was: Collared to a 5' chain outside in the 15 degree cold in a doghouse with no bedding and a water dish that was iced over. We put him in the Saturn, and proceeded to my workplace where a grooming table, 2 baths, a new collar, LOTS of attention and treats were in store. He immediately got people's attention. And lots of it. He had never been exposed to this kind of atmosphere so he didn't know what to make of it. He was shy as hell and fearful of every hand that reached to pet him...though he NEVER once showed teeth or showed any aggressive tendencies. He was broken. After the baths, new collar and a blow dry he looked so much better that it was hard to tell he was the same dog that had came into the store. He was always fearful and skittish...he had never known what kindness was I think. We didn't get much information on his past except that he was driving sleds at 6 months old (way too early) and was never taken care of...treated like cattle. It was a place in Idaho...and they can fuck themselves.

Ice's journey didn't get much better at home. He had trouble adjusting to life in a house environment and with our two other dogs. He mostly kept to himself in a corner and his head was always hung low...way low. He didn't wag his tail for the longest time. Where most dogs are ecstatic to see their new owners, Ice never showed such a thing for a long time. We were told his ear tips would most likely never see hair again and that it wasn't worth investing money on a dog as old and as broken as he was. (This coming from a fucking so-called veterinarian...aren't they supposed to treat and help animals)? So of course, we bought ear salve, paid to have his scabs treated and absolutely SPOILED this new member of our family. He was given the best dog bed, the best spot to watch the Packers kick whoevers ass it was they were playing and always treated like the main man. After a few months, his ears were covered with thick white fur, his body looked like that of an athelete and his fur was vivid white. His eyes, which were almost white they were so blue, finally started showing signs of life and vivaciousness. He started prancing up and down when he saw any of us and I swear a smile could be seen on his muzzle. One peculiar thing about Ice was that anytime you reached to him from out of his eyesight he was startled and frightened when he saw your hand. We came to find out he was deaf. No wonder he couldn't hear the "gee" and "haw" commands of the sled team leader. We learned to overcome that "disability" and he started getting along well with our other dogs. The cat wasn't so sure, but then again cats never really are, are they?

There were a few times where he got loose and ran around the small town we lived in. With no less than five of us chasing after a deaf dog down a rural road. Although we knew he was deaf, it was impossible not to call "ICE!" as loudly as we could in hopes of him turning to us. And the funniest thing was...he wasn't RUNNING. He was just jogging slowly (but fast enough to keep us at bay...) and checking out his new digs. We found out the only way to get him was to drive in front of him and open the car door. He would jump in the car EVERY time! If dogs only came with instructions in the first place...

He proceeded over time to improve in all aspects of his life. His favorite thing was having his butt scratched...just above his tail. His way of meeting a new person was to run up to them, prance on his front legs a little bit and then turn his butt in your direction. All he wanted from anyone was a 'buttscratch'. He learned that he had a voice...deaf and all...and would howl the most sorrowful howl you ever heard if he was left outside too long or if his water dish was low. One time we left him alone for a little longer than we should have. His answer was to grab a backpack off the wall (4' hook), place it in the middle of the living room floor and then shit on it! He was way too smart for his own good...

We had him for two years. He was the life of any party we had and the only dog trusted to not jump on people, eat off the table or ever get hyper. He made friends and a huge impression on everyone that ever met him. We always felt proud to say the we gave him the best retirement home he could have ever hoped for.

The day he died the Packers were playing a playoff game which they won. I had just fed the dogs when he came back upstairs and something just looked wrong. He was drooling and looked like he did the day we picked him up. Broken. I went to help him lie down and he gave a howl. I started to freak out...my mouth went dry and in my boxer shorts and wife beater I called the vet on call. This fuck seemed more interested in the TV than the drama and pain unfolding in my household. I practically had to BEG him to meet me at the vet office. Once there, it took him 20 minutes!!!! (It takes 5 to go from edge to edge of this town) to get there. I showed up in boxers, a wife beater and flip flops. I didn't want to waste any time changing...fuck protocol. He (I won't refer to him as a "vet" anymore) comes out and tells me that Ice has what's known as a "gastric torsion". His stomach has flipped over and both ends are blocked off. It's painful for the dog and the best remedy is to put him to 'sleep'. That term has always pissed me off. And if putting a pet to sleep is an "easy" thing for you to do...you're a fuck. I ask what the other options are. Begging, pleading for any other answer! He tells me that he can operate but it's only 50% successful...and he'll need 50% of the cost deposited now of the $1100 total operation cost. Remember: I'm in my boxer shorts and flip flops. I have nothing on me. I make a call and get the okay to spend the money we don't have. (And what REALLY torques me about this is that if it were a 77 year old HUMAN on the table...money would have NEVER, EVER been brought up). Long story, short...he died on the operating table. I came the next day to pick up his things and pay for an individual cremation. I fucking lost it and had to walk home. He had come so far...to die like this? INT WTF?!!?! My flying student and friend who was a veterinarian in another county told me that this condition was a complete mystery. No cure or prevention known. A fluke...an un-lucky occurrence. It helped but I will always wonder if I had stayed with him if I could've done something different while he was eating that night. His story was an amazing one...and it proves that if you have pets spoil them while you can. They don't live long enough, even under normal circumstances, to not show them the love they give us.

There is so much more to this story but it was hard enough to write this. And this blog y'all can take seriously. Ice was my main man...I miss him. And please don't ask me to remove his picture...at least for awhile, kay? He's way better looking than I am anyway...