Trooper Troop de Doop
May 28, 1999 – May 29, 2014
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| 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.
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| 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.”
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| The family, 2006. |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 2005 |
