Not freaking huskies

To be clear, I never wanted a husky, nor was I ridiculous enough to imagine I have the lifestyle for a sled dog. He was my wife’s dog, who was originally her then teenage daughter’s dog, rescued at one year from the streets of California, and holy shiitake mushrooms Batman he was a TERROR.

He was the smartest dog I have ever met by 10, he would have actual spoken word arguments with his “awoooos” and he would usually win. When angry he would purposely (PURPOSELY!) pick the most sentimental objects we had to destroy, and no they didn’t “smell more like us” as people like to claim, I don’t sit around and read my TWO CHILDREN’S BABY BOOKS but those are what he ate, as well as my wife’s wedding shoes, and my bonus son’s birthday wallet while ignoring other perfectly adequate paper and leather goods. He was an escape artist and a scoundrel, and in spite of a fully fenced yard was a bit of a celebrity sighting in our neighbors yards. He was incredibly vain, like when he was left in the car (with AC on) for two whole minutes and ate a full bottle of pills, was hospitalized for observation, and then ATE THE IV DRIP TUBE they put in him for fluids, he was so freaking mad they shaved his arm that he looked at his arm, looked pitifully at us, and turned around and stared at the wall for the day.

Also. The worst part, by far, about him is how he absolutely broke my heart beyond the pale when he left us without warning in February. He had eaten so many absurd things in his devilish youth without so much as indigestion, and gotten into so many scrapes without any consequence, that I was sure he’d live forever, mostly to spite me and my overworked vacuum. When he deteriorated over two short weeks from what the vet was sure was a brain tumor and left us at 10.5, I was floored by the depth of the grief I felt and still feel for this absurd, imperious, entitled walking carpet. I miss him with a longing that is hard to fully understand, and I would do anything for another cuddle with him. For all his faults, which were numerous, he was the sweetest, funniest, silliest, most eccentric boy, who made you feel like royalty when he graced you with the privilege of a few pets or a neck scratch.

So, in summary, unless you have time and energy to run 5 miles a day, have a 10 ft fence, and worlds of patience, don’t get a husky. But if you do, in spite of my best advice, I hope he is 1/10th as wonderful as our goofiest boy, our Mr. man, Silas.