Oakley is no longer with us.
Oakley was a surprise birthday present for my mom. My dad planned a covert camping trip around getting her. After canoeing for the weekend, they stopped by a breeder in Granite Falls. She was the least hyper of the bunch, and was absolutely adorable. She was a wonderful dog, and led a wonderful life. Early on however, there were some bumps. She managed to eek by parvo as a puppy and was diagnosed with hip dysplasia. She managed past those hurdles, and was active up until this, her 14th year.
Anyone who has smelled it can attest that she had the worst gas in the world. Her farts quickly befouled rooms. Changes in diet, carbon pills, even voodoo couldn’t mellow the paint stripping ability of her farts. Funny how something like this becomes endearing.
Oakely loved walks. She’d start dancing when she’d see the red leash, and though she didn’t need it, was comfortable on it. At ease around other dogs, she’d generally mind her own; exploring smells, or fixating on the log pile where there might be mice. She was also gentle. On a trip to Canyonlands, she caught a blue skink. She was just as shocked to catch it as the skink was, and dropped it immediately. The skink lost its tail; a self defense mechanism, but managed away safely. She blended in well in the desert. Red.
As she aged, white patches developed around her happy eyes. Her constant smile showed how friendly she was. She even put up with Barley, the little bastard dog who always wanted to play. We thought Barley might kill her over the month she lived with us in an apartment, but she managed to ignore him, occasionally bark to let him know her feelings.
Dad and I would take her on backpacking trips, and she’d carry her own bags. Even with hip dysplasia, she managed to hike long distances, often many times over as she’d run up and down the trail, often cutting the back of our legs with her backpack.
Oakley was an amazing soul. Such happiness, patience, and love. If only we could all share her disposition.
I’ve posted a small gallery and hope to add to it.
Don’t think I don’t know that old trick of blaming farts on the dog.
But seriously, I’m sorry she’s gone. This is a sweet and moving eulogy.
I am sorry to hear she’s gone Andy, she was a good dog, my favorite memory was of her flopping her feet around in the snow when your mom put the booties on her.