Dogs Are My Fashion Statement

Boots by Frye, Elkhound by Denver Dumb Friends League

I found this picture a while back and thought it would be a fun Throwback Thursday share. Once upon a time I wanted to be a fashion blogger. I was obsessed with fancy shoes, clothes from Anthropologie and putting together unique ensembles. My Norwegian elkhound, Freya, was happy to be my model sidekick, but Lasya, whose posterior makes up the lower right corner of this photo, was always making a fast exit out of frame. I shopped online and created Pinterest boards and Polyvore collages and followed all the prominent fashion bloggers long before I discovered the world of pet blogs. Adopting Ruby changed my world from "life with dogs" to "life about dogs." 

I'm not ashamed to wear a shirt with my dog on it.

These days I have far less interest in fashion, although I still love a beautiful, well-made pair of shoes. You'll most often find me in shorts and a dog t-shirt, jeans and a dog t-shirt, or lounge pants and a dog t-shirt. (other favorite t-shirt themes are Game of Thrones geekdom, bands I love, literary allusions and anything with birds or horses on it). My priorities for shoes and clothing have shifted from "is it in style?" "is it a reflection of who I am?" to "is it comfortable to walk, play and lounge around with dogs?" I still have a closet full of high heels and beautiful dresses that I seldom have occasion to wear. I still like to get dolled up once in a while when I meet my friends for brunch or go to a concert, but the thing that is most a reflection of who I am is a dog (or two, or three) at my side.

Rescue Puppy

This photo was taken in June of 2007 in Grand Junction, Colorado. I had just driven four hours with this sweet little elkhound puppy in order to meet her new forever family. She was left in the "night drop" at a shelter in the Denver area, and for the short time I knew her, I couldn't imagine why. She was perfectly behaved in the car, slept in my lap most of the way and didn't make a peep. Her only fault was her great need for a bath after sleeping on a concrete kennel floor. Her pungent odor prompted me to call her Stinkahontas for our journey,  though she was also known as Sasha. 

My mom drove to meet me and make a little getaway weekend of it, and it was so hot that we decided to take the puppy inside a shopping mall to wait in the comfort of air conditioning. She got so much attention, everyone wanting to know what breed she was, and every time someone came up to her she would sit and wag her tail. I desperately wanted to puppy-nap her, and even my mom who had not yet been won over by the breed admitted that she was smitten. I received updates and photos from her new people for some time afterward - she was adopted into a small family with another older female elkhound and fit in wonderfully.  

I loved being involved in one chapter of this darling's happy story, and not-so-secretly hope I can be so lucky as to find a similar Norwegian elkhound puppy to rescue someday! I highly recommend "driving for life" - volunteer transport - as a way to contribute to rescue efforts, getting dogs in need to foster and forever homes.  My own Ruby was brought all the way from Arkansas to Colorado by way of volunteers and I'm so thankful that there is such a network. 

TbT: Trio

Clockwise from upper left: Freya, Bjorn and Lasya in 2005

In keeping with my fostering theme this week, I wanted to share a photo of my three-dog days.  Bjorngenstern the Destroyer (Bjorn) was my first foster dog through Norwegian Elkhound Rescue. I took a leap with him because Freya was dog-reactive, but they were fast friends and obviously cut from the same cloth.  Elkhounds have a long history of moose-hunting, and their job was to venture out ahead of the hunters and hold the moose at bay.  Freya and Bjorn had an adorably similar play style filled with bouncing and body-slamming.  Lasya got along with everyone but was mostly happy to let the two greys wrestle.  Bjorn lived with me for several months, and although the casualties included curtains, throw pillows, a comforter, a telephone and a t.v. remote, I loved having three dogs in the house.  True to breed, he was extremely affectionate and also a howler who gave the best hugs.  I sometimes walked all three around the neighborhood and they made an impressive trio, attracting comments and compliments wherever we went.  Bjorn happened to be adopted by a woman who lived in Durango, near where I grew up, so I was able to deliver him to her over the holidays that year when I visited my parents with a big red velvet bow around his neck.  As far as I know they lived happily ever after. My first foster experience was a good one, and I'm grateful to have shared that time with sweet, funny B-Boy. 

TbT: Lineage

I've said before that my love of dogs is genetic.  This is my mother in my kitchen with Freya, Lasya and Scout in 2009. She is about to dole out some liver treats, and you can see that they are all in a state of rapt attention. Dogs always listened closely to her. There are other, similar pictures of my grandfather, surrounded by dogs. Everyone in this photo is now gone. My Gotcha Days with Lasya and Freya would have been celebrated this week. I miss them all very much. They were such a beautiful trio, all together - silver, black and gold, with my mother the voice of love, kindness and wisdom. 

TbT: Snow Dogs

Lasya and Freya, my beautiful doggessses, in 2009 on my parents' mountain property.  They were made for winter - double coats and furry paws, the curled tails of Northern breeds - and there is nothing like tromping through knee-deep crunchy snow between the evergreens with your loyal pack of two.  If I sent out holiday cards, this would be mine. 

TbT: Bad Dogs Are the Best Dogs

I have been thinking about and missing my Norwegian Elkhound, Freya, lately (you can read a little more about her on my Pack in the Sky page).  I've even called Ruby "Freya" by mistake a few times, which is odd as they look nothing alike, and Ruby is a very different dog personality-wise.  The only things they really share in common are leash-reactivity (though Freya's was only dog-triggered and Ruby's includes anything that moves) and some fearfulness (one of Freya's many nicknames was "Afraida" as she was literally scared of flies. A moose-hunter she was not).

I lost both Freya and my other dog, Lasya, this July, only ten days apart.  I will write more about Lasya in the future - she was my first dog of my own and gave me little preparation for the larger canine challenges to come as she was so naturally good, nearly perfect.  Freya sounded like a screeching Banshee every time we encountered another dog on a walk.  She snapped at several people in my home.  She had to wear a muzzle at the vet's office.  She was the cause of two trips to the emergency room for poor Lasya.  She was not an easy dog.  Why, then, is it Freya that is on my mind more?   I feel a little guilty that this is the case, but there is something to be said for the dogs that take us out of our comfort zone - there is a saying about that being where the magic happens.

While Lasya was independent and self-sufficient, it always felt like Freya truly needed me.  The way she looked up at me with those dark brown liquid eyes - it was clear that I was her favorite, and it's hard not to be flattered by that.  Freya didn't care where she went or what she did, as long as it was with me.  Freya taught me how to creatively avoid other dogs, how to manage a dog that is wary of strangers and one with food-guarding behavior, and most importantly, how to love the imperfect dog.  She is in my heart on this first real snowy day in Colorado, and every day.