Leader-of-the-pack

RIP Yuka Grrl: Born ~1998 - Gotcha Day March 2000 – March 12, 2015

Leader of the Pack:

Yuka Grrl, snowy 2005, Chicago

Yesterday was the end of an era for me and Peter. The final member of our original pack died, peacefully, in our arms. We’d had her for fifteen years this month—so she was somewhere between 16 and 17 years old.

We adopted Yuka from a shelter in Chicago. We were looking for another Shiba—and Peter said he was interested in a red girl. We heard there was a gentle red Shiba girl at a shelter that had not passed the temperament test—meaning after the vet had given her a nasal bordatella vaccine, she had jumped two feet away from him and snapped—so either this Shiba girl had to be taken by a breed rescue ASAP or she would be euthanized. I didn’t think that was a very fair “test” considering the snap happened after shooting something up her nose, so we decided to visit her.

When they opened the door to her cage, she tip-toed carefully over the pooling stinky water in the aisle of the numerous cages.  Finally free of her cramped living space, she immediately pooped and then settled down, away from us—aloof and watchful. Peter liked her immediately. She let me pet her, which was my “test,” and so we decided to bring her home.

Newbies to dog ownership, we thought Trooper would be the “top dog” because he had been the first dog in our house. But after being introduced at a park, we let our two dogs play at home, and Yuka immediately used her longer reach to knock Troop on his back. He got up to wrestle again, and she did it again. And then again.  Trooper seemed to quickly agree with the new hierarchy.

And so it was. Yuka led our pack, fairly, intelligently, and strongly.   

2003: the dog pack

She didn’t care about eating first or getting out the door first—those were tiny moments that were not about leadership. She led via her overall gentleness AND by keeping other dogs in check—if a foster dog bumped into her too roughly, she taught him some manners with a precise nip to the ear. If a foster dog growled at her, Yuka stood her ground and made him re-think his actions. They only made that mistake once; then they knew how to treat her and the rest of the pack. She was a good leader, wise beyond her years, and she helped us foster more than 50 rescue dogs for MSIR during her lifetime.

We finally realized our Yuka Grrl was NOT a Shiba at our first Chicago picnic back in 2001. We looked around at the small and dainty Shiba girls and realized our girl towered over them. And her coloring was different. And her head shape. And ear position. And tail. We started researching, and finally recognized our “ugly duckling” Shiba was in fact a beautiful Korean Jindo.

Yuka was Peter’s grrl—and there was no doubt he was her person. In Chicago, we’d go to obedience training together and the teacher would ask me to work with Yuka sometimes. Yuka obeyed quickly, always looking to Peter before agreeing to the task I’d asked. Her loyalty to him was unwavering.

Living in Chicago without any children yet, Peter and I were a little crazy with our dogs. We took them to Camp Dogwood, dressed everyone up as Superheroes for a Shiba-ween fundraiser,

Catwoman, Superman, Wonder Woman,
Batman and Robin

and even tried agility—with mixed results. Yuka actually was quite good, if not speedy, as she obediently went through weaves and up and down teeter-totters. One day at a practice agility meet, she spotted a tiny Yorkie peeking under a curtain in the ring. Hairs bristling, lips practically drooling, she leaned forward and I knew she was ready to pounce on the squirrel that was about to enter her ring. Barely spotting her distraction in time, I yelled “DOWN” at the top of my lungs—and she obeyed, thank goodness. But that was the end of her agility career.

Yuka was never a frivolous pup. She showed little interest in toys or squeakers, but would collect sticks and rocks in the backyard. She would sit in the sun outside for hours, or hunt squirrels, opossum, and even stray cats that dared to trespass her yard (but she never touched our kitties in the house). 

Her prey drive was a beautiful thing to witness. We loaded up the dogs and took them to Wisconsin for a lure-coursing dog rescue fundraiser. Going so fast you could barely tell where her body and Rico’s began or ended, she would charge after the plastic bag lure that taunted her until the end. Panting heavily, she’d stop for a while only to start chirping when other dogs ran their turns. We learned to fully stretch her legs out before she started or she pull a muscle as she extended everything in the run.

Once we’d had children, Yuka became our go-to girl again.

Yuka and Clara, 2006: Photo by Renny Mills

The Shiba boys could be bratty around kids, but Yuka was solid. In pictures, she sat next to the baby, because we knew if the baby fell on her, she’d be okay with it. We trusted her completely, because we knew she'd protect any of her family.

Yuka accepted “too much love!” from the girls willingly. –and this misidentified "Shiba" girl who was almost euthanized for snapping at a vet tech, did not snap at or bite anyone during her fifteen years with us--although she could offer a powerful bark that made many a delivery person think twice.

As she aged, she kept her mind—wagging her tail in greeting to us from her dogbed, even as she became less and less able to get to the door. Her hearing and eyesight declined more and more, and we had to stomp the floor sometimes to let her know were coming so she wouldn’t be startled when we touched her. This week, after her legs completely failed her, Peter and I knew it was finally time to say good-bye, even though neither of us were really ready to do so.

Rest in peace Yuka Grrl.  Our pack is waiting for you upstairs. We know you’ll be romping with Trooper (2014) , Rico (2007), Banzai (2009) and Xerxes (2007) and honorary member Tipper (2013).