Shiloh wasn’t your typical Husky. The day we got him, we met one of Teresa’s coworkers to pick him up. As soon as we opened the doors to get out, he jumped from his owner’s truck and into ours as if he knew us, and he was ready to go home.
And that’s what we did. The transition was so easy and natural, it seemed as if it were simply meant to be.
We’d heard some anxiety-triggering stories about Huskies before we got him. Like how they have separation anxiety and will destroy your house if you leave them alone. Or how they will go full Forest Gump and run ‘far far away’ if you let them off the leash. Or how they’ll Houdini their way out of a fenced yard if left unsupervised. Or how they could be stubborn and get aggressive if they didn’t get their way.
But not Shiloh.
Shiloh was gentle. He was very laid back. Easily trainable. Always listened. Never aggressive or destructive or temperamental. He never tried to escape the yard. In fact, unless we were camping or hiking, he never really cared to be outside. Anytime we’d let him out to use the bathroom, he’d be back at the door ready to come inside in just a couple of minutes.
I remember the first time we decided to let him off the leash. We were camping at Kyle’s Landing on the Buffalo River. We were packing up to go home, and we’d had a great weekend with him on the trails. We decided to ignore all the advice about NEVER letting them run free. I walked about 40 yards away, and Teresa let him off the leash to run to me. We were a little scared that this was a bad idea.
He ran full speed straight to me, then turned around and ran full speed back to Teresa. He did this multiple times, but he never ran away. After a few laps, he went back to his water bowl, got a drink, and waited for us. After that, we knew we could trust him. In fact, we never kept him on a leash unless we got close to other people on the trail just to keep up appearances since technically the trails were leash-only. But he never ran, never wandered off.
Well… except for one time. We were camping at Richland Creek. It was dark, and we were sitting and eating dinner by the campfire. Shiloh had been off his leash. Another camper came over to us and asked “is this your dog?” with Shiloh in tow. Turns out, he decided their dinner smelled better, so he casually made his way to their campsite, nearly scaring the crap out of them as he emerged from the shadows looking like a lurking wolf. But, in typical Shiloh fashion, he sauntered over and made friends… probably in hopes of sharing their dinner.
Also unlike most Huskies, he was rarely vocal. It was often difficult to know if he was sick or injured because he never whimpered or cried. The only times he was vocal was when he wanted a treat — which he would demand in his DEEP Husky voice — or when Teresa got home from work — which sounded like an air-raid siren giving birth.
SIDE NOTE: My favorite movie is The Last Samurai. I would often taunt Shiloh with a cookie or treat, trying to get him to speak. He would Ro-Ro, and I’d talk back. This would go on for a few seconds, I’d give him the treat and then say “I have enjoyed this conversation in English” mimicking Katsumoto (Ken Watanabe) from the movie.
This last Friday, we had to put Shiloh to sleep. He was nearly 15 years old. This last year, old age started to slowly take its toll on him. This last month, his health began to decline rapidly. In the last two weeks, he stopped eating, could barely walk (toward the end, he could barely manage a few steps without running out of breath and collapsing), and became incontinent.
It was time. We only waited because we hoped he would pass in his sleep at home. We didn’t want him to die on a metal slab in a sterile room at a vet’s office. But we knew he was suffering, so we made the call.
Shiloh, you were easily the best dog I’ve ever had. Rest in peace my friend. I will miss our conversations.
