The winter of 2013 was snowy. Snowy in a way New England hadn’t been since we adopted Zuni. And, as I’ve mentioned before, Zuni hated snow.

Typically, during the winter months, we traveled to Culebra to escape the New England cold. Zuni even accompanied us the prior year (a story for another day). This year, however, as Zuni approached her year anniversary of having monthly abdomen drainings, it was clear we needed to stick closer to home.

Zuni handled every vet visit like a champ, always being braver than I could ever hope to be. Even so, the monthly visits were starting to take their toll and Zuni began healing less and less quickly, the drainage spot taking longer and longer to close up. Her spirit was strong, but her body was starting to protest.

So, for 2013, Nick and I planned separate getaways, Nick to visit his family in West Virginia, followed by a trip to see friends in Seattle, me to have a girl’s vacay in Vegas.

Prior to January, mornings meant walking Zuni and Maybel separately, giving Zuni a quick tour around the block and Maybel a longer stroll through the dog park. As the weather went decidedly downhill, my desire to be in the snow began to rival Zuni’s, and we switched to a single walk with both pups. 

That meant Zuni spent most of our “walks” in my arms, not only because the weather was foul, but because there was no way she would voluntarily enter the dog park.

On foot, if we approached the entrance to the dog park, she’d shift her center of gravity in such a way to make it impossible to move her anywhere, let alone into the park where she could potentially come nose-to-nose with another dog.

(Oddly, that was unless I said “trash can”, in which case she knew she had to enter the park only as far as the first bin. As soon as she heard the dull thud of the used poop bag on the bottom of the barrel, she instantly reversed direction and dragged me out of the park.)

Our typical afternoon routine was a quick group walk around the block, then Zuni remained home while Maybel and I went for a longer walk. When we returned, Zuni was always right by the door.

As soon as the door opened, Maybel bolted to the kitchen counter – the newly minted “snack cabinet” – for an after work treat, and Zuni bounded after her, ears and tail held high, running down Maybel with an energy that belied her health issues.

Maybel’s walks typically took us to Petco. Always the scavenging stray, Maybel loved to dive under the shelves at Petco and sniff out abandoned treats, emerging from below covered in a fresh layer of dust and cobwebs. She had just finished her literal sweep of the floor, and we were heading to the register, when I saw it.

I’m not sure why this particular toy grabbed my attention. Zuni was not a toy dog. My first gift for her was a stuffed toy shaped like a piece of birthday cake, which I picked up in the Detroit Metro airport on a return trip from my parents’. She gave it a token chew then, realizing it was not actually cake, never touched it again.

In fact, the only toys Zuni ever showed interested in were toys designed for people. She defaced a couple beanie babies and a stuffed dogs, and skinned three mechanical dogs. (You know, the kind you could get from Spencer’s that took small forward and backwards steps while yipping. She had it out for those things!) But, if the toy was meant for a pooch, she simply wasn’t interested.

Somehow, the ‘coon changed that.  The ‘coon had an extra furry, large head and a thin, unstuffed fluffy body that squeaked on both ends, the tail giving the typical dog toy squeak and the head giving a mournful lower-pitched squawk. I looked at it and thought, “That is a toy Zuni will like”, and impulsively grabbed it off the shelf (I paid for it, too!)

When I got home with the Petco bag of weedle pads, snacks, and the toy, Zuni (of course) greeted us at the door. I took the ‘coon out of the bag and held it out to her.

“What do you think?” I asked. Zuni answered by grabbing it right out of my hand, tag and all, and taking it over to her bed to chew on.

She loved it, particularly the mournful squeaker in the head. Every time we gave the head a slow, soulful squeak, Zuni’s ears perked up and she’d come running. The ‘coon became a bit of a contention point when Maybel took an interest, so I picked up a second.

In the end, I picked up a third, as Zuni tore the nose off the first, pulled out most of its fuzz, and broke all the squeakers.  ‘Coon number three is now a permanent part of Zuni’s memorial.

And so, January passed.

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This blog, and my Boston marathon run this year, are dedicated to our little pooch Zuni. Please, help Zuni’s shelter the Animal Rescue League of Boston save more wonderful animals in need.  Donate to my 2014 Boston Marathon fundraiser for the Animal Rescue League of Boston! Want to help even more? Please, spread the word to everyone you know!

Zuni considered anything knitted as belonging solely to her.