My dog. My friend.

Trooper Troop de Doop

May 28, 1999 – May 29, 2014

2005, Chicago

I got Trooper to celebrate being finished with school. Finally finished. As in, I finally have the PhD and I’m done done done. Before he was born, I called him my Ph-illy Dog, rejoicing that I would now have extra time to do something beyond writing papers and reading books. He was my reward.

I researched various breeds and decided on this cool little Asian breed that no one had heard of, a Shiba Inu. The book told me that Shibas were smart, fairly easy to train, didn’t shed a lot, and would be a lot of fun. –and they looked cool, just like little Akitas. Most of that turned out wrong--but I didn't know that yet.

So I found a breeder nearby in Nebraska and visited. Peter and I met Malamutes and Shibas there, and I fell in love with the Shibas’ spirited attitude.

Chicago, 1999

When Trooper was born, he was a singleton, the only pup in the litter. Luckily, I had been the first person to put down a deposit, so if I wanted him, he was mine. We visited again when he was four weeks old—and he appeared lame. He couldn’t get up on all four feet because his dog mom had stepped on him that morning. The vet told the breeder that he might never be able to walk and that he might need to be put down. I cried so many tears that I retreated to the bedroom with a migraine.  But after many heart-to-heart conversations, Peter and I decided we would take the lame little pup anyway, if he could walk at all. I remember saying, “he might not be the fastest Shiba, but he’ll be mine.”

Chicago, 1999

A week later, Trooper was up on all fours—running even—and he proved everyone wrong.  –and that’s how he earned his name. He was a trouper, someone who didn’t give up and who kept trying. Someone who was resilient in the face of many challenges. Someone who would teach me life lessons all the time without trying.

2005

I found out quickly that I knew nothing about Shibas. I remember vividly calling the obedience school and the line going dead—because Troop had chewed through the telephone cord. I remember teaching him to fetch with tiny felt cat toy balls—because that’s as big as his mouth was. He graduated to holding the fuzz on tennis balls, and eventually could catch a ball in mid-air with a stylish half-twist.  He would lick his nose if I made kissy sounds, and he would kiss my hand on cue, when I created an O with my fingers. He blew enough coat to make another dog. Twice a year.

Trooper had his idiosyncrasies, like many other Shibas. He growled at slippers, especially if they tried to grab him as he trotted by. He didn’t like flies—and would either snap at them crazily or drop his tail and bolt from them, whining. He had seasonal allergies and preferred the couch to being outside. In short, he was not a dog all the time, but a short, furry person with mild anxiety.

Chicago, 2002

But he did manage to succeed. We trained in agility together, and he was really talented. The instructor thought he might be her first Shiba to actually do well in competitions. –and he did. In the very first Jumpers-With-Weaves competition (an obstacle course of mainly jumps with weave poles that the dog has to move his body back and forth between), he only missed one jump, earning a 95 out of 100. No one else fared any better, so we won first place. 

We moved onto our second competition of the day—a regular obstacle course—and he did similarly fabulously for about half the course. Then he got excited, and being a Shiba, he started tearing around the course, running in circles faster and faster doing what we call “the Shiba 500.”  I unsuccessfully tried to get him back on the course—then tried to get him to come back to me—even humiliating myself by crawling toward him with tempting treats—but the crowd cheered loudly every time he started a new cycle and he loved the attention. I finally caught him by telling him to go into a tunnel and running to the other side to grab him as he exited. He was pumped. He loved agility—or actually he loved ignoring the agility course, while I chased him. He never completed another course or won another ribbon.

Chicago, 2003

But he was my friend, so it was okay. Peter told me once, “All Troop wants to do is sit on the couch with you” and I realized that was more than enough. We didn’t have to train for hours together. We didn’t have to compete. We could just be buddies. –and we have been.

Camp Dogwood, 2002

Trooper introduced us to other Shiba owners in the area, which led to Shiba picnics and eventually dog rescue, as we learned about the overwhelming numbers of Shibas that end up in shelters due to their obnoxious adolescence. Eventually we adopted our female Jindo Yuka Grrl, and soon after that, we (and three others) were inspired to co-found Midwest Shiba Inu Rescue, a breed rescue group that solely helps displaced Shiba Inus. But Troop was the beginning of all that for us. He helped save hundreds of dogs just by existing.

Chicago, 2003

Trooper was the funny sidekick to Yuka's serious Jindo temperament. Yuka would kill a squirrel in the backyard and sit down calmly. Trooper would run in huge circles carrying the dead animal in his mouth, like a trophy that he had earned himself. Yuka would catch a trespassing neighborhood cat--and Trooper would get beat up by the cat, who then landed on his head when I demanded Yuka release it. He'd eat an entire pan of brownies. Or an entire package of Oreos. Or he'd end up Wheat Thinned with the box on his head, sniffing out the last crumbs. She barked. He boofed. 

But Troop always knew who his family was.

Trooper, Yuka Grrl, Xerxes, Banzai, 2003

Peter and I fostered many dogs in Chicago—our numbers were about 50 total while there—and Troop acclimated well to all of the incoming and outgoing Shibas. He didn’t mind that they shared his humans and space, as long as they didn’t sniff his butt. One time we were fostering a bratty Shiba girl who liked to try to dominate others. When Peter’s parents came to visit, she rushed his dad, attempting to nip at him. She was surprised by Trooper who knocked her flat with his body. He knew Papa was there as family, and he didn’t allow bratty Shiba girls to take a bite out of his people.

The family, 2006.

With Clara, 2006.

In 2006, we moved to Oklahoma City, and Troop again adjusted to the new plan of adding human girls to our pack. He wasn’t sure at first about these little crawling creatures, but he soon realized they had treats to share with him. –and he always liked sharing treats, as long as he wasn’t the one having to share his personal stash. He decided in about 2008 that he would start sleeping on a floor pillow in Clara’s room, and only gave that up when the stairs became too tough to navigate on his own.

with Clara, Olivia in 2009

He let Clara learn how to train a dog in 2012 by going to obedience school with her (and me). We figured it would be easier to learn how to train a dog, if the dog already knew some of what was expected. He loved working with her. And he loved the treats and extra attention.

with the family, in 2012.

The last few years have been tough here, watching him decline, as his kidney functionality diminished, and he lost muscle control in his back legs. His balance has been off for months, and he seemed lost sometimes, as he tried to figure out where his bed was behind couches or tables, places where his bed had never been.  Today I’ve been petting him, and he still pushes his muzzle into my hands, but he can’t get up easily anymore, he isn't interested in special treats, and he falls too often when he stands. It’s time to say good-bye, which I hate, but I know it’s my responsibility.  

And while I will miss him always, as my first Buddy-Boop Troop-de-Doop, I also know that he knows how much he was loved, and how much he taught me about life: accept life’s challenges, don’t give up, play fun games, laugh at yourself, help others, protect your family, and know when it’s time to sleep.

2005