“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.” Roger Caras
I never knew one of the most extraordinary love stories of all time would begin with 7 simple words spoken on a rowboat.
“I think we should get a dog.”
There’s much debate over why Steve spoke those words to me – a long-term commitment made well before we were even engaged. Soon we were driving to a rural farm in northern Minnesota to meet our newest family member.
“We know that’s the mom. And we think that’s the dad,” the owner sheepishly acknowledged about the litter of black furballs with ribbons tied around their necks roaming around the property. The smallest struggled to keep up with her brothers and sisters, only to be pounced on when she caught up with them. Despite being outsized, she kept going back for more.
Josephine AKA Joey Probst would soon find herself heading to Wisconsin. Named after my favorite coming of age character Joey Potter, we got her for the bargain price of $25. Little did I know, Joey would long outlive my love for Dawson’s Creek.
For nearly 18 years, Joey was a constant fixture in every major milestone of my adult life. She was there when Steve proposed. And on our wedding day when she chewed through her leash and sauntered through our ceremony like it was her special day. She became instant besties with Lucky, the stray cat Steve picked up during the Polar Vortex. She tolerated two more felines Chickpea and Mischief and made peace with endless rounds of hens waddling their way along her runner, oftentimes following them and cleaning up their poop. Later, the annoyed sigh was visible when our kitten Scout came out of his shell and wreaked havoc in our home. If only she could talk.
Jake and Joey were destined to be buddies. After a momentary sniff-out the day newborn Jake came into our home, she welcomed him with open paws. They bonded over years of tail and fur pulling, sharing human food, and watching YouTube videos before nodding off to sleep.
When our adoption failed and my dad died, Joey was right by my side, ready to snuggle for as long as it took to bounce back. A loyal companion to Steve, she loved c-span, Supreme Court hearings, and other riveting podcasts while checking out timber sales and barking at deer from the comforts of the passenger seat of his truck.
She loved adventure. An international traveler, she circled Lake Superior with us, only to find her leash tied to my ankle after Steve realized our air mattress was larger than our tent. She chased a car on Highway 2 and won. Run-ins with porcupines and skunks never deterred her – or teach her about not loving everyone and everything she crossed paths with. A regular at the green cabin, fishing on our boat, or endless errand running in Duluth, our adventures were rarely complete without Joey.
Come Christmas, she’d sniff her way through her stocking, begrudgingly pose for Christmas card photos, and ride along to find that perfect Christmas tree. A constant presence in an ever-changing world.
Monday started like any other day. Sleeping with Jake, potty, breakfast, a ride in Steve’s truck, and a walk in the woods. And then, in an instant she disappeared into thin air. No trace. No noise. A week of wandering the woods on foot, atv, and tracking her with dogs turns us up empty handed. So many texts, kind strangers scouring the woods, and well wishes reminds me the world is still a good place filled with kind and caring humans. Yet, no closures or answers, just a hole in my heart. I now grasp the magnitude of the saying, “dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”
I’m torn writing this, but this is what writers do. So, for now, I live in that in-between, wanting to acknowledge our loss, while still wanting to believe in miracles. At times, my head wants to justify her missing and tell me it was her time. That she knew and took one last walk into the woods to die alone in a place she loved. To save us from making any gut-wrenching decisions or bearing the pain of saying goodbye. Meantime, my heart holds onto hope – that perhaps Joey is living out her final days on a magical adventure deep in the woods of Bayfield County.
Regardless, all roads will lead her home.