Timber video (Rt-click for Windows; Crl-click for Mac)
For one third of my life, Timber was my companion. Our journey lasted 16 years, and somewhere along the line she ceased to be a dog. Instead, she was simply a being whose life was intertwined with mine. Our partnership allowed us to move "mountains" that neither of us could have done alone. Together we created a third entity - a closeness so profound that I've been unable to match it in human terms. It was a dog that brought me my greatest insights in life so far, and it was the struggles we faced together that produced them.
Through her long and full life, Timber created a positive influence felt by many people. For them, or anyone who would like to experience the life of Timber, I've created a short video to commemorate her life and how close she and I were.
This download is free. See above. If you would like to view it online, click
here.
When Timber was only 9 weeks old, I became her third owner. As I learned later, previous owners had tied her to trees and beat her. The result was an anxiety disorder that lead to eating rocks as a way to relieve her stress when I was not around. Over the first several years, she had four abdominal surgeries to remove rocks from her stomach and intestines. I learned over time that she simply had to wear a wire muzzle whenever she stepped outside.
My belief that Timber could have a real life was realized after seven years of patience, persistence, and sometimes excruciating exasperation. But none of it was possible if not for Timber's personality that allowed for eternal optimism and a resiliency I've rarely seen in any living thing. I never saw a dog so happy to be alive. Through it all I learned how intelligent she really was which demonstrated that abuse can last a life time and has nothing to do with the victim’s intelligence.
Timber was extremely loyal, yet had a fierce independence. She mastered obedience training rapidly when she was younger, but could take off like a “hound out of hell” when a lesson was over, should something interest her. Her Australian shepherd/greyhound genetics gave her grace, speed, and intelligence, and she could be out of vocal command range within seconds.
She could figure out how to open the front door and come into the house, and often talked with her latex, spiky football. She would use her front paws to squish the air out of it then stand looking while it re-inflated and made noise. She accompanied the “talking” football by whining and howling, and would repeat the entire procedure for hours. We occasionally visited town parks which often had a tall slide with a 10-12 foot ladder. When I climbed to the top, Timber would scale the ladder as well and slide down the other side. It was amazing because she had learned to do that on her own.
She has been with me throughout my entire wolf career so far (15 years) and was always there surveying with me in the truck and walking in the woods. When I was teaching the wolf survey classes she would accompany the students on their surveys as well. When Timber was in the wild she was certainly in her element. In 1999, I moved to Montana to continue wolf research and in part to give Timber an even better life. Within several months, the wire muzzle, which was down to being used occasionally, was no longer needed.
In 2004, Timber stopped playing with her football so much and did not always follow vocal commands. I realized her hearing was no longer very good and I placed a bell on her collar so I could always find her. She was still free to roam our large, unfenced yard and she never entered the surrounding forest on her own. In 2006, her eyes began to fail as well. So along with the bells, I placed a blinking light on her collar so I could see her at night. She was still free to roam the yard whenever she wished and accompanied me everywhere, including wolf surveys. To keep her sense of smell sharp, I began hiding milkbones each day in the cabin so that she could find them by sniffing them out. It also kept her mind active by solving the problem of locating milkbones. Her sense of smell never let her down.
In July 2006, Timber was diagnosed with bone cancer which appeared in her left wrist. She had a swelling in this area for the remainder of her life. Nevertheless, it never became painful and she continued to go with me on my daily runs. For years she ran 4 - 6 miles with me almost everyday, but now it was time to limit her mileage. During her last months, running helped improve the mobility of her hindquarters which were becoming progressively more weak. I just woke up one day and she was old.
For several months she continued to run until the bone cancer progressed to the point where we could only go for daily walks - anything to keep her mind and body active. She loved it. By now Timber was attending my anatomy/physiology class for the semester so that our future nurses and doctors could observe and keep track of her many aliments. Should Timber die during the semester, I also wanted the students to have an emotional reaction, in preparation for the fact that not all of their future patients will make it. It was great for Timber because she enjoyed roaming the room, visiting with the students, and finding hidden milkbones. I did the best I could to not treat her as if she was old.
In September 2006, I took Timber on a 4 mile hike to the lake where she has gotten so much enjoyment, knowing it was for the last time. We patiently worked our way up the mountain and back down. I had now become her seeing eye human and she depended on me to guide her. Her optimism continued to the very end of her life and allowed her to do just about anything, although slower and with less intensity.
All of her aliments were age related and fortunately none of them caused pain. She always had a bright look in her eyes, was inquisitive, and continued to find ways to scam me for additional milkbones. Several days before her death, she had a seizure which took most of the day to recover from. But she returned to “normal” and was again driving around with me. She even continued to go to class. Two days later, she had another seizure, one from which she did not fully recover. Instead, she became sedentary, although she kept trying to get up but failed. I admired her fighting spirit but encouraged her to stay down until she was recovered. Even when we went to the vet’s office she still did not get up.
By the next morning, she had quite a different look on her face. The spark of life in her eyes was gone and her overall appearance was just “tired.” She was tired of fighting. She calmly looked at me from her sleeping pad and I knew that after 16 years and one month, her life would end that day. Blood samples from the previous day indicated her liver was failing, most likely from the cancer, thus the seizures. I drove her to the vet’s office where they were expecting us. A soft pad on the floor was awaiting her and I laid her down gently. I remember feeling how wonderful it felt that I had my arms surrounding her. She hated being picked-up, but on this day she was relaxed, fully alert, and was apparently filled with 16 years of trust and acceptance. She never panicked or became anxious and several of us, including the vet, knelt beside the pad and stroked her coat. She was given a sedative and her body relaxed even further. The vet found a vein to insert the catheter that would deliver the injection to end her life. When it was in place, the syringe was attached and handed to me upon my request. I placed my hand on her head and stroked her muzzle so she could get my scent. With all my love, I pushed in the fluid and sent Timber on her way.
