Good-night to Our Beloved Warden

Returning home from our morning hunt, I was saddened by a memory I had as we entered our home.  For well over thirteen years, our entryway was an inspection location where a thorough examination would occur.  Our four-legged Warden would investigate each of our boots, pants, gloves, and hats as each was removed.  He did not hesitate to also check-out our socks and our long john’s.  One would only hope to pass the intense investigation.  Otherwise, there would be tremendous amounts of whimpers, licking of our garments, and an enthusiastically combined with excessive tail-wagging.  Sadly, returning after this morning’s excursion, we were not greeted in this manner.

As much as my memory has saddened me, I am also over-joyed to have had our family blessed by one incredible animal’s love.  Reminiscing Jim’s phone call while out hunting some thirteen years ago, I had not anticipated his hunting day’s adventure to result in him finding a dog.  Perhaps, it is the dog who chose Jim.

During our conversation, Jim had informed me that he and his little brother also known to our girls as Unkie Matt had begun their hunting day like the previous one.  He stated that they decide to proceed to the previous day’s area they were hunting at because they received a lot of return bugles.  He stated he briefly left Unkie Matt in the cab of the truck and returned seconds later.  After jumping back into the truck and closing the door behind him, he looked at Unkie Matt, dubiously. 

He informed me that he began to giggle some because he thought he had heard Unkie Matt whimper.  Jim stated that he asked Unkie Matt what was up with him crying to which Unkie Matt offensively retorted, “I am not whimpering.”  Despite the morning not yet fully awake and curious as to what Jim knew he had heard, he and Unkie Matt peered through the truck windows for signs of other hunters in the area. 

Neither one of them noticed anyone walking close by nor was there evidence that any one was near Jim’s truck.  Jim asked Unkie Matt if he heard that.   Unkie Matt agreed that he had also heard the whimpers Jim spoke of.  Again, they both looked around.  Unkie Matt verified to Jim that he still couldn’t see anyone and Jim nod his head in agreement.  Jim then tells me that he opens his door and.. 

To their surprise, a beautiful yellow pup jumped in the truck cab between him and Unkie Matt.  Jim reported that the yellow dog still sitting between them, licked his puppy lips while dancing on his front paws, staring contently forward ready to join them to their next destination. Jim stated that he noticed the yellow pup was wearing a collar.  The collar had no tags.  Jim informed me that he began to talk to the pup, who refused to make any eye contact with him or with Unkie Matt.  Jim further conveyed that he noticed the dog’s collar had somewhat intertwined itself in the dog’s fur as it had grown over time.  It was obvious to them that the yellow pup had been living in the wild for some time.  Instead of continuing to hunt, they searched around town for notifications with contact information for an owner missing their dog.   Though, their search was unsuccessful. 

I interrupted Jim’s adventurous story to request him to not leave the dog out there and wished for him to bring the dog home.  I stated that once he returns home from hunting, we would take the dog to the vet to have him looked over.  Plus, we needed to observe the interaction between our current fur-babies with Jim’s found one, hoping they would all get along.

The next day Jim had returned to his Mom and Dad’s house to drop Unkie Matt and his hunting gear off.  Jim had placed a phone call to me to let me know that he was heading home.  Before ending the conversation, he shared his and Unkie Matt’s unintentional discovery for what it was like to be a dog traveling down the road at 65 mph with its head hanging out the window.  Dumb-founded, I had to hear more of THIS story.  He stated that on the way back to Rock Springs from Pinedale, he and Unkie Matt had encountered toxic air that succumbed the cab of his truck.  Jim did try to blame the toxic odors on Unkie Matt!  They concluded by the unbearable odor created by the yellow dog that he had lived on rodents, gut piles left over in the hills from that time of year, and any other means to survive. 

When Jim returned home, the yellow dog fit into our family without any doubts.  We all agreed to call him Soda Bear based on the location he was found near Soda Lake.  When Soda first arrived, we could literally count his ribs, but it wasn’t too long until we Mlinarized his figure.  During the early years of having Soda in our family, we observed daily the survival skills he had learned while living by himself in the woods.  Some of those skills consisted of packing leaves together in the yard to create himself a bed; or pouncing quietly while hunting mice in the park; or instinctively curling up in a tight ball covering his nose with his tail to stay hidden as well as warm.

Jim discovered quickly that Soda would not be a good hunting buddy. Despite being quiet like a cat stalking its prey, Soda would yip incessantly while running after rabbits.  Sadly, rabbits were not what Jim would be hunting!  Therefore, Soda had to stay behind at the house with me and the girls to hunt rabbits and squirrels in our back yard.  Soda was an excellent squirrel hunter and had incredible patience.  Patiently waiting for his prey to get within his reach, we watched Soda in one motion:   leap into the air towards his prey, grasp the squirrel in his jaws, and whip it around to break its neck.  We were astounded by this observation.

Squirrel and rabbit hunting were just a few of Soda’s favorite past times.  He also possessed Houdini skills.  Soda could stay dry in any rain or snow storm by utilizing the trampoline in various ways as cover.  It was evident during our numerous camping, hiking, or when setting up trail cameras that Soda never came back to the truck dirty or wet. 

  

While camping I enjoy venturing off to photograph animals I stumbled upon, plants and other shrubbery, or beautiful scenery.  Soda was my companion during these excursions.  His attention span was very short, child-like, like mine.  Yet, I could ask him to return us to camp and he would lead the way back for us.

Soda loved, LOVED,4-wheeling.  He did not hesitate to push whomever (big, small, human, or non-human) he needed to from his co-pilot seat. 

  

Soda thoroughly enjoyed being our running trainer whether we were running at the cemetery or on the Greenway.  As he began to age, Soda refused to admit his hips hurt him after those runs.  We eventually had to leave him at the house.  He would whine from the time we left him until the time of our return.  This was absolute torture for those who stayed behind to keep him company.

Despite Soda aging, he was one heck of a protector.  We trusted his instincts particularly when it came to those we allowed to enter into our home.  In one case, we had to request an individual to leave.  Soda did not like this individual and this person’s presence made Soda’s hackles raise.  

Additionally, Soda was good at detecting when one of us was having a bad day.  He would comfort us by giving us his unconditional love by sitting next to us.  Then, he would place his head on our laps.  He would look up at us.  Nudging his nose to our hands, we knew that he was wanted us to caress his unbelievable soft fur.  His request definitely made our crappy day much brighter.

     

One afternoon, we discovered Soda was deaf.  I had stated to Jim and the girls that I had called out to Soda a couple of times on various days after returning home from work.   Usually, he greeted me by sticking his nose through the knothole of the fence.  I would gently tap his nose signaling for him to meet me by the back door of the house so I could let him in.  Over time, he didn’t seem to hear me arrive home at the days end.  One day, upon returning home from work, Soda did not greet me by the knothole.  I proceed to the back door of the house and called for him many times.  He was lying down on the trampoline but he did not move.  I walked to him.  Placing my hand on his head, I began to pet him.  Startled, Soda jumped.  Then, he began to wag his tail, excited to see me.  Jim joked many times that instead of calling out to Soda when he arrived home, he begin to make sign language motions towards him. With his tail wagging, Soda would jump off the trampoline and trot towards the backdoor of the house.

I am sure many of my readers are thinking; he is just a dog and that is what happens when an individual owns an animal…the circle of life.  Yea, we get that.  Soda Bear was much more than a dog.  He was beyond an intricate part of our lives and the demeanor he possessed was one which we have never encountered in just a dog before.  We miss our incredible Warden, tremendously, especially on days when we return home from our hunts.  The Mlinar Clan are a lucky bunch to have had Soda choose Jim that early morning, refusing to leave the truck until he and Unkie Matt reached their next destination.