Fantasy Forest Kennels's Gallery of Our Dogs

Fantasy Forest Kennels

MacKenzie

From his very birth, I knew this boy was going to be my special baby. His mother, Rosie O’Grady, was a breath taking beauty but had been so horribly hurt by her owner’s stroke that she was unable to relate properly to people anymore. The father was Kalaska’s Silver, a lovely old man who had made a name for himself in sledding. I found good homes for the other pups, but this little boy was my “keeper”. Little did I know that he would be keeping me – or at least a good chunk of my heart.

MacKenzie was named after the great explorer, Arctic Knight Alexander MacKenzie. He shared the house with us and considered himself “one of the family”. He was about a year old when this incident happened, displaying his intelligence and sense of humor. My daughter Tiffany was in high school, but still ready to clown around with the family. She was hopping around the old farm kitchen, arms akimbo, flopping her elbows. As we laughed, MacKenzie suddenly joined her – bunny hopping behind her on his hind legs, with a smile that showed he knew it was all a big joke.

My “big bad sled dog” became the butt of the joke, when I bought him a “squeakless” shearling ball. Except the squeaker wasn’t broken, as I had thought. The first time it made a noise the dog dropped it, and stared at it, stunned. Then he carefully nosed it, then picked it up gently. For the next three days he carried his “pookie” around, sleeping with it, carrying it to the food dish, setting it gently beside the water dish,…. But he would have me hold it when he went outside to relieve himself. After three days of this tender care, he must have realized something was amiss. He laid down beside it and proceeded to chew it to pieces.

MacKenzie always loved children. Once at a show I had stopped at the lunch counter to get a bite to eat. He lay quietly at my feet while I ordered. Turning to leave, I looked down and a small child was crawling between his front paws, trying to convince him to take the proffered dog biscuit. MacKenzie turned aside from the treat and just nuzzled the child. Another time we were on the sidewalk, watching a parade wending it’s way down Main Street. I noticed a tug on the leash and looked down at my dog. MacKenzie was “low crawling” towards a small child, hoping to get close enough without scaring her, to get some pets from the little one.

MacKenzie’s show ring experiences were big learning experiences for me. Time and again we got the judge’s favorable attention, but only to loose because his bold Monadnock look was not in fashion, or because of his size. MacKenzie was right at the top of the standard, without 1/8” to spare. Each time we were measured in the ring, the judges had to concede he was in standard “….but I prefer a smaller dog”. Tiring of the routine rejection, I finally gave up showing him, but I think he missed the outings.

First and foremost, MacKenzie was a sled dog. He was never a fast dog, but he was always ready to run. He would run lead for me, but he seemed to prefer the wheel position, perhaps because it put him closer to me. As a wheel dog, I could count on him to loaf along until the going got tough, then he would lean into the harness and become a one-dog team, letting the other dogs scramble to keep up as we plowed up a hill. Eventually his younger, faster offspring replaced him on the team, but he still loved going out for sledding demos at the schools. For inside demos we would sit the kids down on the floor then lead him around. He would visit every child, giving them tender kisses or laying in their lap for a moment to get a few extra hugs before proceeding down the line.

MacKenzie had us all pretty well trained. When he wanted outside he would go over to my husband and bark at him. Bob would get mad and yell, then I would but the dog out to keep the peace. It worked every time. In the middle of the night, if he needed out, MacKenzie would simply come up the stairs and snuffle at the bedroom door. He never abused the signal, so I would quickly rouse and let him out.

MacKenzie’s joue de vive was contagious. I could not be sad or dispirited for long when he was at my side. And he seemed to take it upon himself to always be with me. It was almost as if he was my alter ego. As MacKenzie got older, he was more sensitive about being separated from me. His barrier frustration increased to where he could not stand being crated for more than a few minutes, and his need to be close to me made it difficult to do anything without his presence. Fortunately he was content to stay in the house without me all day, so I was able to live a somewhat normal life.

In early 2008, I rejoiced in MacKenzie’s good health and decided to celebrate our life together by taking him to the Siberian Husky Nationals that fall. It would be awkward at times if I wanted to attend a function without him, but I figured we could work around it. Sadly, it was not to be. That summer his health went downhill. Our runs with the ATV came to a halt as he stumbled too often for me to safely drive beside him. We stuck to leisurely walks on the flexi-leash, instead. The pond was our frequent destination. MacKenzie always hated swimming – he wouldn’t willingly go in any water deeper than his elbows. Perhaps it was my mistake for forcing him out into the lake with me as a youngster, or maybe it was a hard-wired Siberian trait. Regardless, he avoided going in the water but loved the walk down the wooded lane to the pond.

The last few months even the walks to the pond became difficult. Many times we stopped short as he was having too hard of a time keeping his feet under him. He never complained, never growled or cried. He would just sit back and relax a minute, as if to catch his breath before making another try, smiling to let me know it was allright with him. His bark became very hoarse, but being a naturally quiet dog, it didn’t seem to make any difference, except maybe it was harder to wake me up for a middle of the night trip outside for a failing bladder since he couldn’t make the trip up the stairs anymore and had to rely on the barking.

The last days I think MacKenzie must have been aware that his time was growing short. He became more loving and dependent on me than ever. Each morning he would spin happy circles when I came down the stairs, and would have smothering kisses for me each evening when I returned from work. When he needed help getting up the steps from the yard to the house, he would growl and complain, even yelp occasionally. I suspect it was his dignity that hurt more than his old body. But when the seizures dropped him in the yard that last morning, he was unable to respond to the indignities as we rolled him onto a blanket and lugged him into the house. I sat with him and stroked him, letting my tears fall onto his soft coat. He couldn’t respond anymore, but I have to believe his spirit was there, recognizing our love, and accepting that it would last beyond our time together here.

Go ahead MacKenzie, lead the way. I’ll meet you at the bridge.


AKA MacKenzie Moon Fantasy February 19, 1993 - December 8, 2008



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