Post 3 - Secret Keepers

Image Credit: Personal Archives

A Toast To: Four legged fur babies of past and present. 

Song Pairing: Finger Eleven - “I’ll Keep Your Memory Vague” (from the album, Them vs. You vs. Me, 2007).

February 20th, 2026 marks National Love Your Pet Day. If you’re thinking “aren’t there other fur baby days?” Why yes, reader, thanks for asking. Let me tell you all about them! There are many official days throughout the calendar year that give pet parents and animal lovers a legit reason to celebrate. We’ve got National Dog Day, Cat Day, Puppy Day, Black Dog Day, Black Cat Day, Pet Day, Mutt Day…there are actually over 140 national days dedicated to pets, animals, and veterinarians.  For a full listing, ask Google.

Animals being a part of my life started before I could even walk. My grandparents had Kaiser, I believe he was a Samoyed. Then there was Lady the Irish Setter and a lab named Zeus who lived next door and then…then there was Daisy. Daisy is not her real name. I will be changing all pet names for this post because every asshole hack/identity thief knows the most used question for password resets is the name of your first pet. See, not just a pretty face. 

Daisy was introduced to my Dad as he entered Kmart way back in the day. A nice lady with a shopping cart full of pups was advertising them for free outside the store. I don’t recall if my Dad brought her home immediately or drove home, asked my Mom, and then drove back to get her. I’m thinking had he done the latter, it would have been a quick “no” and this post would cease to exist. Daisy was a black and white Cocker Spaniel mix. Today I would bet the mix was either a Springer Spaniel or Australian Shepherd, but she was advertised as a Cocker because they had cropped her tail at birth. Daisy was my first pet. Ya, we went big. I may have had a goldfish...not sure. I had a hamster named Cinnamon, but he or she came later in grade school. I don’t remember Daisy’s gotcha day. My earliest recollection of her was when I was three, returning home from a twenty-one day hospital stay for a blood infection that almost killed me. I brought this up in a previous post; weird how my earliest memories start there. Must have been traumatic or something. That day I remember coming through the door, Daisy being there, and instantly everything felt better. I had missed her, worried about her and feared she would forget me. She of course was ecstatic to see me, jumped up, licked my face, whined a little, and shook that little tush and docked tail of hers like a Tahitian dancer.

Daisy picked my brother to be her human. She slept under his bed. I was jealous of their connection, and I remember it being a bit of a competition. Not a serious one, but I did wish she slept in my room more often. She loved us equally, that I know for sure. Daisy was my first secret keeper. I believe all animals come into our lives for the same purpose people do. A reason. Daisy came to help my brother and I through our parents’ divorce. Divorce wasn’t common in the early 80s, and we were both under ten when Mom left, so Daisy was our support system. She kept us company when we were home alone and made us feel safe. She loved cuddles, hot dogs, Kraft cheese slices and being outside in the snow. Like most pets, she sensed our pain and laid with both my brother and I through many tears. We confided in her our every secret, hope and fear. She was essential through a move out of our childhood home and when our Dad remarried. Just around the time this new life became a little more okay, Daisy was diagnosed with cancer. An aggressive type that started as a bump on her eye soon spreading to her brain. My Dad noticed all the things we didn’t. One day after school I came home and for the first time in seven years, Daisy didn’t greet me at the door. My Dad chose to end her suffering peacefully that day, without telling us. I don't think I ever forgave my Dad for this because of course on that particular morning I didn’t say goodbye to Daisy like I did every other day. I just assumed she would be there when I got home. Both my brother and I were devastated. He didn’t say a word, not to anyone, not for days. I will never forget the look on his face when I ran upstairs to see him right after Dad told me what he had done. Looking back, I can’t imagine the strength it took for my Dad to go through with his decision. What a choice to have to make as a father, to euthanize a pet who is suffering only to break your children’s hearts. He brought her to us and took her away. All I know is Daisy set the bar for every other dog I have ever had and without her every part of my life would be different. So Dad, thirty-nine years later, thank you for giving us Daisy and thank you for the sacrifice you made to ensure she didn’t suffer. 

A few years later, Misty arrived but she wasn’t in my life long, a tale perhaps for another time. Then there were my dad’s dogs, Roxy and Roger, my betta fish Sammy, and Zorro the cat who was supposed to just be a visitor but who is responsible for my transition into being a cat mom. Don’t start. I am not a crazy cat lady. I like cats, I do not own twenty. Zorro arrived as a “can you please watch my cat, my girlfriend and I broke up.” Eighteen months later I claimed him. He was the cutest. A monster-sized large breed of cat. Not fat, big boned. I think he weighed around twenty pounds, all muscle. That cat could smack you upside the head like Tyson. Thank God he was declawed before we got him. Not a cuddler, very independent, wise, sophisticated, demanded respect. Lived to eat. Shortly after claiming Zorro, came Elijah or Eli as we affectionately called him. My first husband and I adopted Eli at six years old from the local humane society. Not knowing anything about cats, we figured Zorro needed a friend. He didn’t, but whatever, not the point. Eli picked us. He literally stuck his paw through the kennel bars, tapped my face and when the cage door opened, leaped into my arms. I am not exaggerating. Unknowingly, Eli came to us with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. We found out a week after he came to live with us. Had we wanted to, we could have returned him, but I was already in love. We were fortunate enough to have the means to give him the care he needed. Eli lit up our lives for one whole year until he died in my arms as we raced to the vet. He was an extraordinary gift to my life and continues to inspire me to find a future caring for animals.

Not long after Eli died, my partner and I decided we wanted a kitten. Zorro was getting older, and neither of us had ever had a kitten. Losing Eli also made us want to improve the odds of having more time with our next pet. We went to get “a” kitten, singular, one. We came home with two. Zorro was less than pleased. It’s important to note, not all cats like company. Not all cats snuggle, groom each other, and look cute. Some cats simply tolerate each other. To this day, I have never had the pleasure of witnessing a cat/cat or dog/cat love affair. Enter Hunter and Kenny. Another interesting tidbit, I had no idea when I adopted Hunter and Kenny that cats lived longer than dogs. Not just a little longer, years. Up to twenty or more! I shit you not. It’s a serious commitment. These two cat brothers, not a thing in common. I also didn’t know that kitties could be from the same litter and have different Daddies, yep, you’re welcome. That little nugget of information still creeps me out a little. Hunter was mine from the start. We bonded instantly, and it was rare if I slept without him purring by my side. Kenny was the definition of a cool cat, so chill, so easy, totally self-sufficient. In 2008, I ended my first marriage. Zorro, who was always more of a loner stayed with my ex. The boys, as I endearingly refer to them, came with me. Zorro went on to live a good life with a man I will never have a bad thing to say about. Since that time, eighteen years has passed. Hunter and Kenny saw me through nine moves, short hair, long hair, a miscarriage, a defamation/harassment case, sizes 8/10/12/14/12/10/8/6, loves, losses, and years of self reflection and growth. The two of them experienced an indoor and outdoor lifestyle as well as country and city living. I said goodbye to Hunter in 2024. Kitty dementia slowly stole him from me. I couldn't bear seeing him unable to find comfort in the surroundings or people that once were so familiar. Fear is not something I wish on any living thing. So I held him close and said goodbye, only this time it was on our terms. Seeing him finally at peace, gave me peace. Kenny sits next to me as I type, my alpha, my sweet boy, eighteen and holding strong. 

Jazz was my step doggie who was terrified of being alone, teared off his Thundershirt and chewed it into a million pieces. Separation anxiety like I have never seen nor believed existed. Barked for hours if left alone. Avid runner and run-away-er. Knew the command “go to your bed” and would never sneak a moment on a human bed even if I really wanted him to. He was a good boy, in my life for a few years and like all my dogs came everywhere I was allowed to bring him. Jazz is special to me because like Hunter and Kenny, he was there through the darkest saddest days of my life. When I physically couldn’t get words out he heard me. I also loved him for being so good to my cats. It was their first experience living with a dog and Jazz took a lot of shit. There was no love between the three of them but…they tolerated each other.

In 2016, I met AC. AC had a Siberian Husky named Balto. Huskies were the one dog breed I was unsure of, only because I had been nipped by one as a teenager. Balto was a big boy, a hundred pound poof ball, so handsome, so demure, just the happiest go-lucky dog I ever met. Balto changed my heart and changed my mind about the breed. I only had the pleasure of him in my life for two years, but I don’t think any other dog made the kind of impact he did in such a short period of time. I will never forget him sleeping in the back seat of the car for sixteen hours straight as we drove to Nova Scotia like it was nothing. Just an absolute trooper. Balto’s purpose was AC. I’m not sure where AC would be today or if I would have even met him without Balto. He was his Daddy’s boy for sure but I always felt like he was happy I came around and I know it made it easier for him to leave. Balto died naturally and peacefully the morning after Canada Day in 2018 at the age of ten in AC's arms. Anyone who loses an animal, particularly a dog, knows the pain that comes in the weeks that follow. Nothing fills the times in a day that get carved out for walks, meals and cuddles. It changes patterns, habits, schedules and the quietness hurts. I think that’s why so many people want another dog so soon after losing one. A new dog never heals the heart, but it patches the void until a new love can form. 

Several months after the loss of Balto came my sweet girl, Kakes. Another husky mix with heterochromia eyes, half the size of Balto. Kakes was again very much AC’s dog, but living so close to one another, I very much considered Kakes my own. AC would agree. As an office goer, I never felt it fair or responsible of me to have a dog but AC ran his business from home so it was the perfect situation. I got to have a dog in my life again but knew she was taken care of when I was away at work. Kakes was a dream off leash from a pup. Always just far enough away,  always looking back to ensure her humans were following. Kakes and I had many sleepovers and play dates, and later I ended up becoming her official Mumma when AC and I married, and ended up moving in together. Her favourite sounds included the carrot peeler, cheese package, and the freezer drawer being pulled open for blueberries. She always came to lay with me at night but always slept with her Daddy. Our sweet girl Kakes passed away in her sleep, prematurely from an enlarged heart a few months after her sixth birthday party. Yes, her last birthday party was an event. She was the specialist girl who was treated like the princess she was, and she is missed every day.

So where does that leave me? Well, as I mentioned, Kenny is sleeping soundly beside me, and so does his sister Boo, aka the demon. Where do I even start with this one? Apparently, there is a superstition in dog ownership land about never getting the same breed of dog three times in a row. This may not be scientifically proven, but I have one word to say on the matter: truth. Boo was re-homed to us at four months old by a family who obviously did zero research on the breed and just thought she was cute. Game of Thrones absolutely ruined it for Northern dogs. Yes, beautiful dogs, but they are not low maintenance lap dogs. They are a worker breed, so exercise them, ffs! Vent over, sorry. Nicknamed the demon, Boo shit in my house for months. It also took months for her to understand that walks were for two things: doing the serious business and exercise, in that order. But not her, zero focus, “oh look a leaf, oh look a rabbit poop snack, oh look a groundhog.” Off leash like Kakes? Fuck no, not a chance. We gave her plenty of opportunities to prove she could do it, but…leash it is. Boo ruined countless shoes and never was it just a cheap flip flop. She chewed every baseboard, random chair legs, ate drywall, the armrest of the couch, devoured a pillow, a book, I think a rug, and also wolfed down so much snow we thought she had a UTI. Cost us about $600 to rule that out. Did I mention she’s a talker? First one. No, not all huskies are vocal. Balto wasn’t, Kakes nope, this one - this one has different volumes, tones, and her own little harmonies. Boo turned two last October, graduated from demon to monster, and in the process, stole my heart with that little smile of hers.

Almost fifty years of pet parenting. It has been the greatest and most heartbreaking role of my life. I don’t know if this is an original thought, but my personal belief is that the human heart is limited to the amount of love and heartbreak it can hold. I know despite the size of this organ, its capacity is truly powerful, but so is the strength of these two emotions. Loving and losing a pet takes pieces of my heart every single time. My hope is that when there are no more pieces left, I get to see all of my fur babies again. I want the wide open field of wildflowers swaying in a warm breeze, the sun beaming down, birds chirping, the smell of ocean mist, and all of my sweet fur babies running towards me in slow motion, excited to see their Mumma again. If there is a heaven, that is my version of it.

RR

xo