Sashi of Stargazer Champion of the Heart 2024

 Sashi is one of my special needs Stargazers. Due to the appearance and growth of a soft tissue sarcoma on her left wrist, she had her left leg amputated in February of this year.  The mass  first appeared three years ago at a time when Sashi was still running in harness at the age of 9 years. Her doctor debrided the mass twice and this year it became time for Sashi to become a tripawed.  Post surgery, her athleticism paid off, as she slowly healed and developed a new hop to her step. Quite amazing really, how she adapted almost immediately, hopping into the car and up  five steps upon her arrival home after the surgery.  Sashi has always been a firecracker, born close to the 4th of July.  Her debut at Stargazer came following an illicit feast on a couple dozen chickens, a trip to the county shelter, and a short visit at another foster home where she terrorized the owner's dogs. She was an escape artist, and had to be tethered while acclimatizing at Stargazer. That and the fact that I had about a dozen hens myself.  In her running years, Sashi was not a lead dog, as her downfall was the sniff and pee syndrome. She was a great team dog, running with many partners over the years. Full of personality and playfulness, losing a leg has not diminished her spirit. She is one of the last of what I call the originals and along with Bella she goes back to the early days of my Siberian Husky joy. Siberians are not generally snugglers, and Sash is no different in that way. Earlier days, she would holler at me if I inadvertently touched her or loved on her. These days, she follows me around and lays near me. She still roughhouses with the boys and lets them know who is boss. Sashi is a true Siberian and is always a Champion of My Heart.

Sashi of Stargazer

July 6,2012 -November 8, 2012

Sashi passed away  peacefully on November 8, 2025. She had been a tripawed for nearly two years. Her ending was sudden.  I was recovering from knee replacement surgery, when  I received a worried call from my dog watcher.  Sash was not good, something was going on. I rushed home, and drove her to my vet, where she was diagnosed with a back injury, put her on pain meds and bring her back in a week. That was not to be. That night and the following day she was in excruciating pain even with all the meds on board. She had on the Help 'em Up harness, but was unable to stand or move on her own whimpering periodically throughout the night. This was my athletic, sassy, independent, willful Siberian bitch. Tough as nails, yelling at all the other dogs, '"get out of my way, I have things to do." The amputation had barely slowed her down, although it did make her more protective of her space. The realization arrived in the middle of the night, that this was the end. Something else was behind this pain,  something that was not a simple back injury. In the morning, I made the appointment and took her in for the final visit. Doctor Snyder was there for us, the Stargazer vet for nearly 30 years, the best of the best. After Sashi crossed the Bridge, both Rhonda and I were grateful as we looked at her, finally at peace, no more pain. I am always so thankful we can end their suffering in a humane way. Perhaps it was a spinal tumor. Looking back over the summer, there were signs, she was no longer leaping in her chair, she was choosing to separate from the other dogs, and keep to herself.  Tough, resilient Siberians. Live up to the moment they die.  After a lifetime of on and off eating, in August, we had treated her as an IBD dog, putting her on Prednisone and a hydrolized diet.  She seemed to be eating better, but unseen, something else was developing. Looking back, I realize how special this girl was to me.  She was not a snuggler, did not like human or dog in her space. Yet, there she was, at my feet, by my side, running in harness with Granite, and later other dogs. Never a single leader, she loved to visit, sniff and pee, do her own thing.  But, she was a champion, my champion. She and I went on many walks, car rides, out and about. There she was, the last of the Reichel Rd. sleddogs.  Godspeed to my Sashi.

Foxfire Bellatrix of Stargazer Bella Champion of the Heart 2024

 Foxfire Bellatrix of Stargazer, Bella, Belle, or Belle Belle as she is known by her friends, which are many. Bella is one of the "Sweeties." the group of  dogs that came out of a terrible puppy mill situation 17 years ago outside of Leavenworth, WA. There were fifty plus puppies that were saved, some were not.   There have been a couple reunions over the years, and this will be the last. Bittersweet for the Sweeties.  Best dogs ever. I first saw Bella at my friend Gail Robert's home in early January of 2008. Winter in Plain meant several feet of snow on the ground and buildings.  Gail has been a rescue angel for decades and there were a couple dozen of these puppy mill pups racing around in her yard in early dark.   A carousel of movement and play. Whizzing by, every so often was this bundle of red wooly energy.  I fell in love immediately and said that is the one for me.  Gail had named her Dora after Dora the Explorer, as one time she had spotted Belle up on her garage roof , accessed by all the snow on the ground. When Dora came home, I changed her name to Bella  as in Adorabella and then her fancy name became Foxfire Bellatrix of Stargazer.  I had rescued another pup just a couple weeks before and thought the two girls might be friends.  LOL  The first thing this spicy redhead did upon meeting sweet little Aurora, was sneer at her and growl.They did become friends over a lifetime.  Belle had a bad underbite and when she first visited my vet, many teeth had to be pulled and I have always teased my vet about pulling all of Belle's teeth.  Bella was never a sled dog.  She would get excited when seeing the harness and had about a half mile of full out running, but then would slow to a trot and then a walk. Just not physically put together right for running.  She did love to carry a pack and was my hiking pal for years, always out in front of any other dogs, straight on down the trails. Bella has always kept her independence and adventurous personality, generally preferring to be outside. She has always enjoyed  vitality and is still a good eater, an indicator of her health.  At almost 17 years, she sleeps most of the day, but is interested in what is going on around her, gets up at the sound of the microwave as it heats up a pill pocket, checks out things in the house and wanders about the yard, when I carry her outside.  Normally, she would be sporting her wooly coat, now bleached out from years of laying in the direct sunlight, but we shaved her in April, after a scary event, in which she became overheated and stressed.  As you can see, these pups had good genetics despite their awful beginning which has helped them be resilient and live long lives.  Bella is one of the most special dogs I have ever called mine and I love that at 17 years she is finally receiving her Champion of the Heart Rosette.

Foxfire Bellatrix of Stargazer

July 14, 2007-October 19, 2024

This was a watershed moment, in which I felt my world shift. For once, I did everything right, and Bella went out on one of her better days. Gosh, I loved that dog. And how amazing to live over a hundred human years. Her mind and belly were working just fine. The bones, muscles, ligaments could no longer do their job of support. That beautiful red wooly coat never grew back after the shave in April. She needed that shave, though as heat had become her enemy. Thanks again. The support shown helped me a great deal. The gift of social media. The poem I shared was written by Jim Willis and is my most favorite for the dogs. And as we all know, they are all our favorites, but sometimes, there is 'that one.'

So this is where we part, My Friend,

and you'll run on, around the bend,

gone from sight, but not from mind,

new pleasures there you'll surely find.

I will go on, I'll find the strength,

life measures quality, not its length.

One long embrace before you leave,

share one last look, before I grieve.

There are others, that much is true,

but they be they, and they aren't you.

And I, fair, impartial, or so I thought,

will remember well all you've taught.

Your place I'll hold, you will be missed,

the fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.

And as you journey to your final rest,

take with you this...I loved you best.

Bella

2007-2024

Daisy

Daisy of Stargazer

It was always Daisy and Dancer, and now there is just The Dancer. Although, I do have their three half brothers here at Stargazer.  Daisy was the second of this family that I lost without warning.  Their sister, Cloudee, died suddenly of Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia in 2014. All of these dogs are immune compromised in some manner, which makes them super Seppala Siberian  Stargazers, some of my special needs dogs.  Daisy and Dancer arrived in a blizzard, a white snowstorm of Seppala Siberians half seen in the headlights of my Suburban, parked in the darkening night.   With a failing alternator, the headlights were shining on the unfinished kennels, containing what seemed like a dozen or more white pups, whirling, dancing, leaping in the darkness and falling snow. I saw white; white pups, white snow, white shavings littering the ground.  The only one I could identify with certainty, was Daisy, who had gone through the debarking surgery, earlier that week, and had a distinctive soft and raspy bark. I chose her, as I knew she would need extra care, and picked another, the breeder called Dancer.  The"D" Litter.  I like having siblings, so I chose two.  These were Seppala Siberians, sure to be excellent race dogs.  Well, that story had to be modified.

The Next Chapter

http://www.rumblstrips.com/the-next-chapter-unfolds/

The Next Chapter Unfolds

By Susan Scofield

“We are all stories in the end.”
~Doctor Who

This is the story of the Blue Kong, and how it changed my life.

Half a dozen years ago, I was found by an American Pit Bull Terrier. As I arrived back at my truck after walking one of my Siberian Huskies along a local rail trail, I found what appeared to be an old, ravaged and wounded, pit bull, laying up against my wheel. The invisible sign was on, “Come here, and you will be helped.”

This dog, who came to be known as Gar, took close to a year to fix through the dedicated and combined efforts of my veterinarian and myself. He was only a year old but had the worst mange she had ever seen, was covered with scabs and scars and had multiple infections. Although subjected to constant foot soaks, injections, pills, Gar never resisted, never growled, and remained gentle, loving and kind.

Initially, we gave him a rubber toy shaped like a bowling pin, which he carried non-stop in his massive jaws for close to a year. The second pin never left his mouth and only lasted a few weeks due to the constant chewing.

Then came the “black kong number one” and “number two.” Gar would not move off his couch go outside or go anywhere without that black kong. Always in his mouth, or beside him as he slept.

Gar lives with my son, Will. One day while at the vet, we noticed they had a Blue Kong for sale! We had never seen those before, and I have been told, they are only sold through a vet. Seems, the blue shows up on radiographs. The Blue Kong looked tough enough, so I bought Gar a present.

Here is the crux of the story. That dog had never let his black kong out of his mouth, let alone out of his sight. But, when Will and Gar arrived home that day, Will took the black kong out of Gar’s mouth, and set it on the counter. Then he set the Blue Kong on the floor.

Gar hesitated, took one long look at the black kong, then picked the Blue Kong up, and never looked back.

Such a whomping metaphor for our lives!

Each new chapter is a Blue Kong. Yes, we have enjoyed, savored and loved, never wanting to leave the place where we are so happy.

Life moves on though, and we are presented with the Blue Kong.

Pick it up and enjoy the new flavor. Those memories, loved ones, places, stories that have happened, will never leave us.

But we must move on, and Living means Loss at some point.

If we are willing, the Universe offers us The Blue Kong and a new adventure awaits, where love, joy, inspiration, fun, and friendship will find us in a new way.

We need to be like Gar, put things away on the shelf, when it is time, and pick up the new 

http://www.rumblstrips.com/running-with-our-own-kind/

Running With Our Own Kind

By Susan Scofield

“Home is Where Your Rescue Dogs Are.”

Twenty four Siberian Huskies reside at the Stargazer Siberian Husky Sanctuary. This journey began over fifteen years ago, when my son picked out a Siberian Husky puppy, who came to be called Sparky. What happened next, is the stuff of legend.

My life revolved on that hinge that shifts us into a brand new world. That little blue eyed puppy turned my life toward a horizon I never imagined. In so doing, eventually he saved the lives of many Siberian Huskies that came to live with me, temporarily as a foster or permanently as a Stargazer.

I discovered dog mushing via bike, scooter, cart, sled, or ski. An extreme sport, is dog mushing, but the joy of running dogs is not to be equaled by any other activity. Most of all, I discovered the Siberian Husky. I was the ignorant beginner, knowing nothing of the breed.

Siberians are a special type of dog, with special needs. They need the Ft. Knox of security as they are the escape artists of the canine world. Up, over, under or through, they will try to get out and run, run, run. While running, if they encounter a cat, chicken, or any animal considered prey, the hunt is on. This being one of the main reasons they end up in trouble.

The love of the hunt, the joy of the run; they are incredibly smart, curious, watchful, mischievous, opportunistic, independent, aloof and social. In addition to this, they are strikingly beautiful.

I have learned so much from them.  First of all, like people, Siberian Huskies come in all different colors, with a smorgasbord of eye color. Yet, they are all purebred, and all lovely. All have four legs, two eyes, and a big smiling face. Loyalty, beauty in motion, they find joy in work, how to dig holes, deeper and deeper, persistence, living in the moment, live until you die, wariness, silence, watchfulness, work is fun, joy, playing with friends, roughhousing is fun, movement is good, naughtiness is fun, chewing is fun, athleticism.

Siberian Huskies enjoy being around their kind. Many people call this a pack. I don’t. I call it a group of individuals, whose dynamics are ever changing, ebbing and flowing on a daily basis. There is no alpha; there is this group, and that group. We play, we fight, we play again. We love to run. We love the snow. We love mud. We live in the moment, and that moment is forever.

This is what my Siberian Huskies have taught me. They are my friends, and my responsibility. I tend to the ones that are cast out, that have been damaged, that are ill or old. We run together, we live together, we love together. This is what I do, this is what I love. This is my light that shines out and welcomes them home.

I lost my Sparky at 15 1/2 years in September of 2015. Over the course of his lifetime, we ran hundreds of miles together, alone on the trails. We were a team, and both of us found it hard to say goodbye. The time came, and that moment came for both of us. He left me with the greatest gift of my lifetime. His legacy is the Stargazer Siberian Sanctuary.

We all have a need to run with our own kind, to know joy, to recognize ourselves in each other. We all need a place to call home that is safe, where we are fed, where we play, fight, work, and know joy. A place where we are loved and not alone.

For more information contact Susan at stargazersiberiansanctuary@gmail.com

http://stargazersiberians.blogspot.com/

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The Empty Bowl

Twenty nine 2 quart stainless steel bowls lined up on the sunset  tiled kitchen island, awaiting their twice daily ration of kibble and water.

 Lined up in military perfection, aligned in order with how they will be stacked and delivered to the hungry occupant of crate or kennel.  Seventeen of those bowls will be delivered to the house dogs in their crates, twelve will go to the yard dogs in their kennels.  Prior to the laying out of bowls, preparations began with the kenneling and crating of the dogs.  This activity is accompanied by a great cacophony of howling, wooing, whining, barking, and anxious hunger sounds.  Often, the dogs are given a cookie to crate or kennel up, so most of them eagerly move to their appointed places.  Stargazers are not required to be silent at feeding time, so guests who happen to be present at this ritual, are warned, "that it will get noisy."  Prior to the kibble hitting the bowl, pills must be doled out.  Some time ago, I dispensed with the idea of wrapping the pills in some tasty treat, as the ever so smart Siberian soon figures out how to unwrap the pill and eat the tasty. Throw the pills in the bowl for some, and hand give the others.  Daisy, my IBD dog, takes 5 potassium, 1/2 magnesium, 1 Pepcid twice a day plus prednisone every 48 hours. She springs off the couch, on to the crate top, where I stuff the pills in one by one, followed by a cookie.  Daisy and I know the routine. Sparky, my 14 year old patriarch, fondly known as Snarly Growl Face, receives one half of a Carprofen, for his old joints. My favorite is never  friendly about taking his pills, but does like the after treat.  Throughout we are being serenaded by the sounds of the Siberian choir at full decibel.  Especially, once they hear me open the pill jars.  Very fine tuned ears, these Siberians. Next, the door opens to the dog food room, and the pitch jumps dramatically. Several types of food, filling the needs of all the special needs dogs.  As the food clatters into the metal bowls, anticipation grows. I turn on the kitchen faucet, fill up the pitcher with hot water and add to the bowls of food. Adding fluids is good for the dog, and slows down the inhaling of the chow.  At least I like to think it does. Who knows what the dogs think? Probably, more food, less water, Sue.

This is a routine practiced religiously, day after day, month after month, year following year.  I like doing this, feeding my friends, placing their bowls down for them, filling their needs.  I love their individual voices, and I especially love the dead quiet that follows meal time.  At least for an instant, until some anxious soul starts to sing the "dinner's over, I want out," song.

I have a pattern in my head and on the ground of how those bowls are laid out, and on it continues, until the awful day, when one of the dogs, in the case of this story, my girl Cloudee, has suddenly and violently left this Earth.  What happens at feeding time? The pattern is wrong, the names in my head no longer match the battered silver bowls.  What has happened to regular?  Everything is wrong, out of place, the pattern has broken.  Where is Cloudee's bowl? It is now the Empty Bowl in the dish drainer, never to be filled again as Cloudee barks in her double beat sing song bark, waiting to eat in the front of her kennel she has shared with her brother Wyatt, since they came to Stargazer in 2008. Cloudee died suddenly, or rather I had to have her put down, a very profound phrase, which means being the instrument of your friend's death.  Most likely Cloudee had Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia and Immune Mediated Thrombo Cytopenia. Her gums became pale, she was bleeding somewhere, she became paryalyzed, was rushed to the vet, and then she was gone, in a matter of a few hours. My dear friend, whom I had spent weeks  in settling and earning her trust when she first arrived at Stargazer with Wyatt. Cloudee was a lead dog, loved to run in harness, and with time and love, had become comfortable and trusting, no longer running and hiding when approached by a human.

That night of Cloudee's death, my heart broke, as I saw the Empty Bowl  waiting to be filled. Never again. The pattern had shifted, my friend was gone, and now there were only twenty eight bowls on the sunset tiled kitchen island.

Flowing, like water.

Siberian Huskies, running together in a group. Picture them flowing like water, as they spin, surge, stall, cut in and out, always moving together.  Dog dynamics are fluid, like water.  They ebb and flow on a daily basis, as bonds are formed and dissolved and reformed once again . The lead is taken, shifted, dropped, and picked up again.  The hierarchy of alpha-omega is a story of wolf packs,  not of dogs.  That story is of family bonding and established roles.  Dogs form community relationships and complex networks of interaction and mutual understanding.  Dogs want to get along with each other, which is why their vocabulary of gestures, movements and sounds is so complex. One speaks of a dog as well socialized, when, as an adult, it is able to recognize and participate in that multi leveled communication of eyes, lips, ears, tail, and body stance.  The dogs that I see at Stargazer which have come to me via the shelter, the street, abandonment by an owner, often do not know their own dog language, or have forgotten it, or pushed it away, due to their own extreme need to survive when safety and security have been non existent or have been taken away. They arrive distrusting, fearful, anxiety ridden, with their own internal compass disabled. My secret to helping these dogs heal, is to use the other dogs, who model the behavior, that I cannot. They teach these lost souls, the language of dog. The language that says this is a safe place, we get food, we hang out together, we are friends, Sue is good. The secret of a dog learning to be a dog again. This is the flowing, the organic movement towards health, towards trust, towards balance.

Brigit is my model for today. Already, she is beginning to flow in a new direction, as routine, food, kindness become part of her new paradigm.  This is not the world of clicker, or command, or authority. This is the world of flow, and of zen, and of dog.  The dog world, of taking the moment, and being in it 100 per cent.

Bikejoring

Biking or scootering with your dog actively engages both of you in a fun sport. You train your dog to run out in front of the bike, wearing a special type of harness, while the dog is keeping a tight line and helping pull the bike along.  Most dogs relish this type of activity where they are allowed to pull and run.  Pull training clinics are offered throughout the region, which will help you and your dog gain the basics for this sport, but are not really necessary to get started.  What is important is having a dog that likes to run in harness.  Otherwise, find a different sport for your dog. The equipment needed for this sport includes a bike or a scooter, a helmet, a harness for the dog, and a 6’ line with bungee, water for the dog, and perhaps a bootie for the dog, in case of foot injury.  The items for the dog are available from a variety of outfitters, which make products for the pulling dog.  Dogs learn commands for turning, stopping, and ignoring distractions.  They learn to stay focused on their job, and develop a more inquisitive and confident nature as they get out and about in the world.  The working dog builds his brain and his body as his skill in this sport increases.  The relationship between dog and owner expands as they learn to run together.  One begins by taking their dog out on a short run, which might be a half a mile, perhaps 10 minutes or so.  You always want to bring your dog back with gas in the tank, and with energy left to burn.  Neither dog nor human enjoys working past their limit, coming in exhausted, and in the dog’s case, overheated.  Overheating is of the greatest concern in this sport. Overheating can take place even on a cold day. Hydrating the dog an hour before they go out, is the best thing you can do to help avoid overheating.  This is done by adding something tasty to a cup or two of water, depending on the dog’s size.  This is called baiting the water.  One must also keep a close eye on the temperature and the humidity.  Dogs can overheat easily at 50 degrees.

 The bikejoring adventure begins at home as you gather the equipment needed.  Do not feed prior to a run.  Once you arrive at your staging area, you will perhaps tie out your dog, while getting your equipment together.  Practice courtesy at all times, keeping your dog on leash, picking up poop, and staying out of the way of other bicyclists and walkers, Next, you will attach your line to the bike.  Some outfitters sell devices to hold the line above the front wheel to help avoid running over the line, which will bring the dog to an abrupt stop and can cause a crash.  Constant vigilance is required in this sport. Next, you will put the harness on your dog, check the fit, and see that all is well.  Lock your car, tell the dog to hike, and off you go for your fun run.  With a bike, you can help your dog by pedaling along, but a strong pulling dog will pull a scooter, and with these you have a much lower center of gravity and it is easier to get out of potential crashes.  Keep an eye on your dog and on distractions as you roll along.  Do not OVERTALK to the dog. Use your commands sparingly.  If the dog is performing well, let him do his job. Enjoy quiet time together as you roll along.   It is up to the rider to become aware of the nuances of the dog’s behavior, to watch the gait, and the body language.  Dogs prefer running on a trail compared to a wide-open area.  Wooded or paved, off road, or urban will all work. A well-trained bike or scooter dog can negotiate most environments.  One trains for attentiveness, calmness and enjoyment. Offer water mid run. At the completion of the run, offer water, food, and “job well done!”  Dogs of all sizes and breeds can enjoy this sport. Northwest Sled Dog Association and K9scootersNW are full of fun loving folks who love to scooter and bike with their dogs.  You can find NWSDA on the web and both Clubs are on Facebook.  K9scootersNW offers a titling program for the scooter and bike dog. Contact Susan Scofield   barnstormer@fairpoint.net for info and training.

Mikasa

Mikasa was a trash talker. Long and lean, she would have been a fabulous sled dog, except for one minor detail, she had hips that did not work. She made up for that with a lot of talk.  Kasa was my first foster failure.  In the late summer of 2002,  I received a call from Mt. View Veterinary Hospital. "Sue, do you know anyone in rescue that can take this sweet young Siberian with severe hip dysplasia?"  Kasa was not even a year old, and could not stand most of the time, due to that dysplasia. Her owners could not afford a surgery, and had reached out to her breeders, a puppy mill in the midwest, which, of course, did not respond.  No one would help this young female. She had 7 minutes to live at the time of that phone call.  Luckily, in those days, I lived less then 5 minutes away from my vet.  My son and I jumped in the car, drove the short distance, and met the dog. Our first words, "Ahhhh."  Which meant then, and still does, of course I will take her and fix her up. Which we did, by authorizing a FHO surgery on that left hip.  Next day, my son and I were headed to Maui for the first time, where my brother lived and where my brother was dying. This adopting of a rescue the day before a trip to Hawaii, became a pattern.  It happened three times in a row, and then there was no longer a need to fly to Maui. Kasa had her surgery the next day. I called from a beach bar in Maui to inquire as to her well being.  All of this being as brand new as one could possibly imagine.  Kasa said then, and continued to say, until her death on November 15, 2012, " I was third."  Third of the now 25 Siberian Huskies here at Stargazer, and third of the original four to cross the Rainbow Bridge.  Kasa always wore purple, and her purple H Back harness from Alpine Outfitters now sits on the island with the candle and the photos. She loved to run and she was fast, for about a mile.  On the way back, those wobbly hips would weave back and forth, but she would come in happy. She would have been the fastest dog in the yard, had the good Lord, given her a good set of balls and sockets. Or if some puppy mill breeder had  some sort of morality. Throughout her long life, she still used that bad right hip, more than the one that had the surgery. Like most Siberians, and dogs in general, Kasa was very stoic, and did not complain about her infirmity.  Oh, and as far as being my first foster failure, yes she was.  We wanted to keep her way back in 2002, and we did.  In 2010, Kasa began developing symptoms that were hard to diagnose.  Eventually, she was diagnosed first as Atypical Cushings, and then as a Cushings dog.She was never easy to manage, her values going up and down, and not managing stressors well, especially heat.  This last summer, she would always lay panting on the tile in front of her personal box fan.  In August, I lost my life partner and my world crumbled.  Friends came from all over, and in the midst of all the hubbub Kasa laid in front of her fan.  During the week preceding the memorial, it was obvious that Kasa was not doing well.  A trip to the vet determined that somehow she had licked up a sewing needle, and her tongue was abscessing, and her airway was closing.  An emergency surgery removed the needle, but the films taken at that time showed a large mass in her spleen, and her bloodwork showed something nasty going on in her liver.  Mikasa was not a good candidate for surgery, and so we took her off her Cushing meds and waited. On Halloween, Mikasa began to fail.  Here at Stargazer, we have had a virus, a serious virus that strikes the immune suppressed hard.  I do not know the origin of this virus, but it seems to reappear and this time it knocked out  three dogs. Mac was in hospital for several days, not expected to recover.  He came home, and did improve, but then Kasa went down. Diarrhea that got worse, no appetite, and movement became difficult.  Flagyl helped the GI tract, but she never regained her appetite.  For two weeks she still moved about, but then came the day she could not stand.  Her bright blue eyes looked at me, alert and conscious as ever, but that body was worn out.  I made the appointment and waited.  The last night, I brought her in from the porch, where she was in her Igloo, and laid her up on the couch.  I turned off the phone, the TV, while the other dogs and I sat with her and waited.  Mikasa was one of those Siberians that did not like to cuddle but here on this last night, she allowed me to hold her.  As the night deepened, her breathing became much more labored and I knew it was not long.  As I said good night to her for what was to be the last time, I whispered the secret Siberian words to her and laid myself down beside her, in  my clothing, as I thought we might have to go to Mt. View in the night. Later, I woke up, but Kasa never did.  She crossed over that Rainbow Bridge on her own.  I  awoke at dawn, and she was gone from me.  I went upstairs to tell my son, then once again lay down beside her and laid my hand on her steel wooly hair. When I awoke for the second time, I wrapped her in a special blanket and went outside to dig her hole.  Luckily, the former owner, had topsoil brought for a garden, or there would be no possibility of burial, as we grow rocks here in Rainier, WA which are called Rainier potatoes. My friend Judy, came over, and we laid Kasa to rest.  She was a good dog, a dog with the personality of a bratty teen, whom I loved, cherished and now miss as I look to her spot on the floor where she always was in these last few months.  Mikasa was the first dog I have had die at home, and there was a certain rightness to it, a private ending with those that are loved, at home, in her own time. There is a resolution with this, that one does not immediately have following euthanasisa.  The next day, a new dog arrived here at Stargazer, a lost dog, a dog that had killed cats, another special needs dog. Thus, the story continues.  But my Kassie is gone and that purple harness is retired. We have a saying here at Stargazer, "Run hard, Run dogs," and that we will continue to do, until all of our harnesses are retired, and the stars shine brightly on the trails we once roamed together.

Alaska

Alaska has his own band of Guardian Angels, the ones with the big wings that spread wide to help save his life last January when his gut was blocked by a large piece of blue rubber and his hours were numbered. The Reaper was waiting. Not to be. I reached out, blindly, but with purpose, and found that I also had Angels, and they continued to call in the support to Mt. View, so that within a very short time, the surgery had begun. By the next morning, over $2000 had been raised for Mr. Alaska, who now romps about the house, having been saved for a second time in his life. Over a year ago, a plea had gone out for a dog named Lucky, who was at that time in the King County Animal Shelter. He had failed a temperament test, having bit at the plastic hand poked at him while he ate from his bowl. He had to go into rescue, not to an individual. Who would take this (un) Lucky dog? He became my first official foster, and he was a mess. He is not what the vets call a thrifty dog. Serious vaccine reactions, chronic Giardia, and overwhelming fearfulness. We fixed the physical issues over time, but Alaska never could overcome that initial bite reaction, unpredictable and unexpected. So he became a Stargazer special needs dog. Put into harness for the first time, he excelled, running fast, straight and true for miles. And then came Christmas, 2011. Vomit in the kennel, including large hunks of blue rubber, which later I realized, had come from a toy he had found in my truck on the last trip home from the vet, when he had his dental. Funds were and are short here at Stargazer, so we delayed on taking him in. Then, when he did go in, it appeared as if he was okay. But several weeks of ups and downs led to his near demise that one afternoon at Mt. View. But Life, Love, Luck, and Fabulous care from Mt. View intervened to save my Alaska. People are Good.

sometimes it is difficult

Sometimes it is difficult to get going on something, to move forward, to take that leap. Do the dogs fear movement? The answer is no. They eagerly move towards the new, charging forth without fear, unless of course, they have met something so huge in their life, that it has thwarted that forward motion. In fact, with dogs, it is mostly circuitous, around and about, retracing, re focusing, noticing this and that. Wanderers with no real destination, but rather a desire for exploration. And they do have the nose for it. Broken dogs need a secure home base from which to move out from. As do people. When that security falls apart, most of us have difficulty moving, let alone forward. We need to find that secure spot from which to spring forth and keep our noses following the good smells.

Bristol goes Home

Bristol went home yesterday, to her new family in northwest Washington. Here at Stargazer Siberian Husky Camp, this was a red letter day, since Bristol is the first foster to be placed. There was great joy in this placement, both from her new family, and from myself, knowing that she was going to a couple that found her lovely and perfect. Young, happy, beautiful, intelligent, kind, trusting, Bristol the Pistol they are calling her. Bristol was here at Stargazer for nearly a year and a half with not much interest shown in her by prospective adopters. I was waiting for the ones that would fall in love with her. There are strict guidelines for placement, in addition to a healthy amount of insight and intuition. Bristol arrived at Stargazer, not much more than a puppy, thin, frightened, wild, and not trusting anyone. She had been taken away from her mother too early, so was not well dog socialized, and had not been given adequate attention in her human home, and so did not pay much attention to anything. The Stargazer Siberians begin to work their special dog magic, and throughout the following months, she began to unwind, build strength, both inner and outer, use her brain and learn to trust. For all her bravado, this girl is a sweet and gentle spirit. As she got stronger, I ran her with Alaska on my scooter, and the two of these cinnamon Siberians pulled me gaily down the trail. Her life will change now. She has gone home from camp to learn a new routine with her new family which includes a Queensland Terrier, a cute little fella who matches Bristol in energy and temperament. Stargazer gave her the much needed respite that was required to allow this little soul to flower. I don't require the dogs here to follow a strict regime, we have a routine, we have good manners, we do not encourage swallowing rubber toys that will cause obstructions...see next blog. We learn to play with each other, and find our dogness once again. Many of us are special needs dogs, that require a permanent position here, but a few are able to move on. As Camp Director, I am very protective of my four legged friends, and I wondered how I would feel about Bristol's

departure. After all, I am a brilliant foster failure. This time, I was not. The reward is in the faces of the new family as they begin to bond in what will be a lifetime friendship. I do miss this little girl, as I look around and see the toys that she would chase endlessly on the deck, and her little heart shaped face. Mourn and rejoice that Bristol has found her Home.

Red Devil

On Christmas Eve 2011, it will be three months since I lost Devil. Smiling Red Devil with Boots of Silver, my D, my favorite. Thus far, I have not been able to write any piece of this end story, as the hurt runs so deep. We lost Flare last spring, then Willy the cat, then TinkerBelle, but when we lost D, something broke inside of me. He was my second Siberian, and he filled our house with so much life. We never knew him as old, although he was at least 11 or 12. He was always just our D, our policeman, our favorite. This is the dog who had dozens and dozens of near death fights with Sparky, my first Siberian and the spoiled rotten king of the house. I have written of when they met. And now, there will be no more fights, no more shouting at each other, no more growling and carrying on with each other. There is something terribly amiss in my household, with my Devil gone. That fateful day, the last thing he did before he was led out of the exam room, was to pull back from Rhonda, and shove his head between my legs, to say goodbye, or to say, "I don't want to go!" I replay that moment where I loved him up for the last time, feeling that big furry neck once more between my hands. I asked Rhonda if there was anything to worry about, but of course not. He was fine, except for those mineralized ball bits in his stomach that were making him sick, and except for the terrible damage done to his neck and spine over the years from those awful fights. But he had just played with his ball, he gave us toothy kisses, he barked like a seal for his dinner. He policed the house dogs and came over to me for loving. D was another one of my dogs that did not like you to pet him too much. He enjoyed some good head rubbing and wooling was fine, but stay away from my hips and legs, and never, never touch my feet. D never came home. After a successful surgery, he began to bleed, and we could never get that bleeding to stop, even after three transfusions. We had to say goodbye at Tacoma Pet Emergency, and it was a very long goodbye. Devil was tired, and by then, I guess, he was ready to go. All I wanted to do was put him in my truck and take him home. He would be fine, he was always fine. Not this time. His leaving was as difficult as he could be under the best conditions. Horrible, awful nightmare of dying. Don't ever believe it is easy, it is not. Leaving this world can be as much of a struggle as coming into it. After he was gone, his crate became his shrine. D loved his crate and was well known for hiding all manner of things in the back of it. We talked to him constantly, and still talk to him. He was such a huge presence in this household of 27 Siberians. A gentle giant, it was true. Noble, handsome, intelligent, stubborn, loving, and had issues:)) We have allowed Tenzing to move into D's crate, but the other dogs have chewed on Devil's bed, so I gave it to Ibis, who was my foster that came in with cancer, and will leave me soon with cancer. But she does not know that. D knew though, and so did I. I now think of he and Tink playing as puppies once again in the green fields and snowy pastures across the Bridge.

I also think of that last goodbye. And await our final hello, when I too cross the Bridge to take the team back once again.

Amber

Amber is a small, gray cat who has been part of my life for six years now. I have only touched Amber once, when I caught her in the live trap and took her to Mountain View to have her spayed and receive her Rabies vaccination. I would guess she was about one then. I first met Amber and Ed in the fall of 2005 when I bought my home out on the Deschutes River outside of Rainier, Wa. She had been left at the home with a male cat whom I named Ed. Ed and Amber, named after the previous owners of the house. Ed disappeared that first year, but Amber, my little friend that I can never touch, is still here. She appears like clockwork every morning, a small gray shadow in the shrubbery beyond the hen house. I fill her small bowl with kibble, and keep the chickens in their corralled yard until she finishes eating. I see her seldom at any other time. After the snow comes, I will see her small cat prints leading from under the garden shed over to the chicken shed where she eats up on a shelf and out of the weather. Many times, I have thought she was gone, but she always comes back. I have considered bringing her in the house with the other cats, or perhaps giving her a permanent home in the Musher's Cabin, but she is wild, of the wild, and will know no cage. Amber bore two litters of kittens. The first tiny three babies brought such joy to me. She had them out under the shed. I carefully watched them grow, and saw that they needed to go to the vet. They had Ringworm, Herpes, and unfortunately FIP. So we had to euthanize those three sweet babies; Sprite, Squirt and Fuzzball. That event broke my heart so much, that even though I knew I needed to have Amber spayed, I waited too long and once again she bore three little kits. Two gray, like her, and one dark tabby. I named them Cougar, Lord Greystoke, and I forget the third. They grew and were wild little creatures, but they had the misfortune to come and play in an old wood stove in the dog yard, where the dogs found them. Poor little things, first one, and then Cougar. They gave the dogs ringworm on their noses and faces. Again, a sad ending. But, we still had Lord Greystoke or Tarzan as my vet, Rhonda, likes to call him. That silly little boy would follow me around the driveway, and throw himself at me,as if he was saying, "Take me home, Sue." So unlike his mother, who would hide at the sight of me or any human. I took him home. He too, had the ringworm, but he lived in the Musher's Cabin for a long time, until he was clean, and then he came into the house and joined the other Stargazer cats in the cat room, safe from all dogs and predators. I captured his Mama that one time. She was a hurricane of fear in the exam room, but she survived, and was spayed. That time she was carrying five kittens. I felt so blessed when both Lord G and Amber's bloodwork came back free from Feline Leukemia. Amber lives on. I may capture her again, as I think she could use a dental and a look over.
We have been having cold, clear weather here in Rainier, and the pellet stove has been burning non stop. I emptied out the ash tray, which still had some live coals burning. Normally, I take that out to the fire pit, but this time, I dumped it in the garden. The next morning, I watched Bullet sitting on the deck, staring intently over in that direction. Often that will mean, Amber is about, or the free range chickens. All I saw was a plume of smoke, wisping lazily into the air. Those live coals had kept smoldering overnight. In my mind, I saw a little gray cat, sitting on her haunches, holding her front paws up and warming herself by the fire. Such a happy thought for me. I hope for Amber, that she has a nice cozy hidey hole somewhere on my property, keeping her dry,warm, and safe, as I continue to feed her like clockwork in the morning for many years to come.

Raining hard here today

Winter has arrived at Stargazer. I am reminded of the adage about the creek rising...my thoughts are more targeted towards the sump pumps operating after several months down time. The heavy rains begin in November and run through February although I have had the basement flooded as late as April. Living in a bowl alongside a river requires working with the flow. Today, I am waiting for my crumb topped cherry pie to come out of the oven, which I will be taking to book group. Tonight's read, "Having Our Say", by the Delaney sisters, who are both approaching 100 years old. They tell their story of growing up in North Carolina, moving to Harlem, becoming a teacher and a dentist and living their lives within a black culture, totally insular, and quite at variance with the surrounding white world. So a cherry pie is a bit like Southern food, although pecan would be better. The kennel dogs are all tucked in the barns, warm and dry. The house dogs are all crated up except for Gar, the American Pit Bull Terrier, who prefers his alone time. His story will come later. Of the 28 dogs here at Stargazer, 13 live in the house, with often a kennel dog and a foster dog visiting. That is a lot of crates...and mud...which requires me to be constantly changing out towels and every so often using the old fashioned rag and hot water to wash the tile. I find this works better than the mop, as the mop strings are always getting caught up in the crate wires. I realized today that half this crew would not pass house training. I just don't get it. If that dog door is shut for five minutes, suddenly everyone has to pee. Now if there was not a dog door, the dogs would go to the door, and woof or scratch or ring the bell ( not mine, but friend's do this), but here they just seem to forget that little step and just let loose. I love tile and laminate. Not all of them do this, but some do, and I must say, the some are all male.

Having lost Flare, Willy, Tink, and Devil in the past 7 months, I am now looking at losing another dog, Ibis. She arrived here as a foster for Seattle Purebred Dog Rescue in July from Thurston County Animal Services. She is a lovely grey, stunning blue eyes, around 10 years old with severe dysplasia, spondylosis, and cancer. Last summer, a 5 pound tumor was dangling off of her abdomen, swinging like a cumbersome grapefruit when she walked or ran. Removal of this mass by my favorite vets at Mt. View, along with another tumor that was an aggressive form of mammary cancer, gave her a new outlook on life. She leaps, and runs and digs like a 2 year old. She is a song mistress, wooing and cooing and talking to me. She is happy to have me, a home, a crate of her own. No longer a foster, she became a Stargazer when it was found that the cancer had metastasized into the lymph nodes. Not too much time left for this old girl, and I do not have the time table, but I do have the time and the desire to give her some good ol' loving, and maybe even a taste of my cherry pie.

Acu-poke-ture

Deedle..D..Red Devil..played today!! Briefly and joyfully he played with the Cuz ball. It has been so long since he played. Must have been that acu-poke-ture he had at Mt. View on Friday. Devil is the second Stargazer. He arrived before we knew we were Stargazer Siberians. His story begins, long ago, in Bellingham, where he roamed wild in Whatcom County, honing his skills of egg eating, pop drinking, and the policing of all miscellaneous dog activity. In those days, as now, D had 'issues'. The nice lady running Preferred Animal Services understood this, and while Devil was visiting that shelter, she purchased him an Igloo, so he could hide from the other dogs. Gail Roberts had posted a picture of Siberian Boy, in which she asked for help for this guy, as he had 'issues'. I had only one Siberian at that time, Sparky, who taught me everything about the breed in a few short months, including the love and joy that this breed brings to me. Sparky needed a teammate, so I was looking for another dog. Siberian Boy was a young, black and white male with the wide open white face, and freckles, that I have grown to love. His eyes, brilliant blue, broadcasted mischievious trouble. We liked that face, a lot, so off we drove to Bellingham in my blue and silver Suburban named Sirius, with Sparky, otherwise known as Mr. Snarly Growl Face, an intact yearling, spoiled brat, favorite, only dog, accompanying us. As the story unfolded, we arrived at the shelter with a specially chosen bag of squeaky toys. We met Mr Siberian Boy, and while I went to look at the second Siberian there, Will introduced D to the bag of toys. 30 seconds later, all toys had been ripped and de squeaked and by the time I returned, Mr S B was looking for something else to destroy. "Of course, we will take him. We love him!" While I filled out paperwork, Will tried to take the 'issue' dog on a walk. He was very strong, nearly pulling Willy off of his feet. I was hopeful at this pulling strength, wanting another sled dog. Little did I know, that the second 'issue' we would encounter would be a luxating patella otherwise known as a slipping knee cap. Not so good in a running dog. Please understand, we were quite new to this Siberian world, having come from the world of normal dogs, and so we were making quite a few mistakes that day. And here came the biggest mistake, we put Devil in the car with Sparky, separated by a gate and an Igloo, but none the less in the same vehicle, which proceeded to suffer horrendous damage as the two dogs met through the gate, and immediately began to try to kill each other. Foam and fabric flew through the air, as the terrible shouting and growling continued. The dog with 'issues' went into his Igloo and our special Sparky continued to rip foam and fabric out of the back seat for the entire 3 hour ride back to Lacey. Sirius carries those scars to this day. Speaking of scars, these two dogs have continued to have these kind of fights, horrible, frightening, life threatening fights, thousands of dollars kind of fights, to this day. Sparky and Siberian Boy who soon became Red Devil, named after an Alaskan town, with a fire theme, are two of the most beloved friends here at Stargazer. They are so dear to us, but if I knew then what I know now, Siberian Boy would have gone to that nice couple coming up from Whidbey Island. We did make it home that day, to our log cabin in Lacey, with Sparky on a leash in the car, and with Will screaming, "He is going to kill Sparky," and I am thinking, "Lord, what have I done?" No, I believe it was more like, "Could everyone just SHUT UP!!!" There are so many chapters in this dog's tale, but I will skip to the present, where after those 53 fights or more, Devil is crippled with arthritis in his neck, shoulders, knees and back. He has Horner's syndrome which causes his right eye, already cloudy with corneal dystrophy,to move in and out of its socket as his nerves are tweaked, renal disease that is controlled with diet, and high anxiety, as our house fills up with many more Siberians. At first, we would tell D that his girlfriend was coming. Tink was supposed to be his girlfriend, as Mikasa ("I was third!") was Sparky's girlfriend, but, well, that did not work out so much. D would continue to police and claim his space. As you well know, the loudest are often the most sensitive, and that is the case with this dog. His sweetness is deep and dear. He has always loved a squeaky ball which he would mouth vigorously with loud squeaks for a few minutes, then bite that ball, pull the squeaker out, and look for the next ball to appear, which it often did, as I would feed his habit by buying him a six pack at Pet Smart. One day, Devil was vomiting, and not feeling so well. Films of his abdomen showed something in there obstructing the flow of things. Mineralized ball bits were embedded in his intestines, so, following surgery, no more balls. This has not really mattered, as Devil has retired more and more to his crate, from which he hollers out expletives at any who dare to come too close. Even a normal trip to the vet requires a Rimadyl the next day, and a walk up the block means he won't be able to hold his head up in a few hours. A recent fight was one of the worst, as Sparky now knows to grab D by the neck and not let go. These two dogs just do not like each other and never will. Most of the time, they keep their distance, but a simple nuance in a slightly charged atmosphere will set them off. Similar to people who just can't get along, these two dogs are best kept out of sight and mind. They have struck some semblance of peace over the years but the the fights continue and will continue unto the death bed. The big issue was and still is, Sparky is #1 and always will be. Devil is #2 and will always want to be #1. Doesn't work that way, with people or dogs. Bragging rights are what they are fighting for. Thus we come to the acupuncture, or acu-poke-ture as we told D he would be receiving. Acupuncture and chiropracty are two healing modes that really help the dogs. Tink received acupuncture for years from an out of town vet. I had taken Devil to Dr. Schaeffer once, but he was so tense, he popped all the needles out. They literally flew across the room so that was the first and last time. Dr. Joanne Salloom, one of my Mt. View vets has been studying canine acupuncture and has now reached the time of needing patients. Several of the dogs here are candidates, but Devil was at the top of the list. We booked the appointment, and of course, I told everyone about the other time, when he popped all the needles out. The staff all know D at Mountain View, very loud, and barks like a seal. Yes, barks like a seal. We all shared private chuckles at poor Dr. Salloom, having to work on D and his micro movements and his barking, and growling and snorting whenever a hair on his body is touched. "Don't touch me, I don't like that!" Side note, of which there are dozens: After his luxating patella surgery at one year old (another chapter), D developed cloudy eyes. He saw our superior Olympia opthalmologist, Dr. Penny Cooley and was told he had Corneal Dystrophy. Around here, we just say "cloudy", which they are, very, very cloudy, now that he is 12. He receives liquid tears in his eyes twice daily so they will not dry out and ulcerate or something just as awful. He is good at getting his eye salve, as he always gets a cookie, which is one reason, he is like Number 4 or 5 on the chart of what your dog ought to look like. From the aerial view, rather tube like. Penny Cooley is another special doctor. I had thought, prior to our first meeting, how will she be able to tap on his eyes and examine him. But healers are healers and they have the magic. I am blessed by these brilliant people who work with my animals. The current of healing runs through them, and the animals respond. Devil sat quite still as Dr. Cooley worked on his eyes so long ago, and every year since. I did not think it would be this way with the needles. As we went into the exam room at Mt. View, Devil was a little worried and shook a bit, as we waited. This was our home ground though, familiar and calm. Dr. Salloom entered the room, and we told her some of D's story. She is not our regular vet, so she does not know him as well. Joanne and I usually seem to meet on a dark, frozen winter night at 2am with one of the dogs being in crisis. Did I mention that the Scofield dogs and cats have their own shelf at Mt. View? Yes, we are indeed special. She approached D, stroked his back, he lay down, and she calmly began to work. He lay there like the sweet Devil he is, as she gently applied the needles and worked on him. Only when she reached his front feet, was he reluctant, so she stopped. Calmly and quietly he waited while the healer worked with him. As this is a training stage for her, we discussed how I will monitor him, and give her feedback. She recommended giving him his Adequan shot (liquid Glucosamine), but I thought I would wait and not change anything in his daily protocol while I am observing the after effects of the acupuncture. We said good bye, he became his loud, barking seal self, clawing at the door, and we came on home. I was on alert. How would this work, would it help, how would he feel? He kept to himself in his crate most of the rest of that day. The next day, I watched, as he moved very slowly about the yard. Normally, he would have been very stiff and sore from a vet visit like that. His slowness was not one of stiffness, but one of relaxing, of slowing down emotionally, of unwinding. He was calmer and moved with a certain peacefulness. I continued to watch him. He sat by his crate and did not police. He was decompressing, he was relaxing, he was less anxious, and... he played with his ball. For just a few minutes, he played, he scooted the ball around, he chewed on the ball, he played with his ball. I put all the other dogs away as we watched our dear Devil play with his ball. It had been years since this happened. Only for a few minutes. This was enough, his leg started shaking and he was tired. Today, he has been out of his crate,and he is more himself than he has been in years. We love our D. We do not like seeing him old. We do not like to see him get hurt. We had a few moments of secret and overwhelming joy and delight as we watched our old boy play. He will be going back to acu-poke-ture with one of the best vets around. We are so lucky to have these people in our life.