A Tribute to our Hunter

I remember the day she came to us. She was so fluffy, shy and as cute as only a puppy can be; white paws on a shiny black/brown coat, white chest and a glossy hearty button for a nose. Her eyes were round, shiny with a hintof vulnerability that comes from being torn from a mother’s breast and a huddle of brothers and sisters. Wanting to cuddle and hug her was a mission, because all she wanted to do was hide herself in any fold she could find, keep to herself and pretend she was still under the warmth of her mother’s coat...

When I first told a friend that her name is Hunter, she asked; “Why? What is she going to hunt?” I’m still not sure whether she meant it as a serious question. Then there was the occasional “Hunter is not a girl's name though.” Her name was kinda picked as unromantically as you can imagine; by Google-searching “Nice name for a dog” and we thought she was gonna be a boy. But she came, and she wasn’t a boy and we hadn’t the heart to change “Hunter” to “Huntress”, since we had gotten used to waiting for & talking about “Hunter”. Hunter this, Hunter that, so Hunter it is.

And that’s the name that Nona, Ally, Max, C’, Buzzi and I shouted repeatedly all morning, all day and all night as Hunter bit into everything she could lay her paws on, chew on every shoe, scratch our faces, pee on the carpet, pee on Buzzi’s bed, and everywhere else really. She had become an amazing ball of energy, border-line frustrating; completely different from how she had arrived.

Our favourite part of the day was getting home to someone (yes, she was human :) who was so excited to see you that she pees all over. She would be so ecstatic to see you that she loses her mind. She runs to you (or on you), dances in little circles around your feet, pees a little, jumps onto your legs, hops away, comes back and attempts a hug, pees a little, jumps up and down, lies on her back for a tummy-tickle, then pees some more. All while scratching you with her tiny sharp nails & wetting your shoes with her pee, licking you wherever her little pink tongue can reach and all in the space of 20 seconds. I know Buzzi had a blast with her at bath time; he definitely learned what dog-shampoo tastes like during those sessions:)  

“The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog.” - M.K. Clinton

She was a glorious joy. Buzzi says he’ll look back at these memories and smile. He is glad he has videos of Hunter in his phone. I, on the other hand, don’t look back on such happy memories and smile. Naah, my heart is a little too brittle. These memories just break my heart. I don’t know how I can think of her and not die a little inside; at least not any time soon.

I lost a dog once. Her name was Bokkie. I have visual memories of her shiny black coat and a red collar rounding her chubby-healthy neck. I cried my heart out when she died but I had her for dinner that night. No, literally. I am a dog-meat eater. Or, “I was” rather. I was very young then and I guess my conscience was not as seared with many opinions and emotional complexities as it is now. I will probably never look at dog-meat without thinking about Hunter and how she loved. I most certainly will not bring dog-meat to my mouth without thinking that I’m a**-hole. My dog-meat eating self has died. 

I knew I loved her when I thought she had gone missing once. I ran out of the house looking for her, calling her name as every worst-case scenario of her having been run over by a car or losing her way home flooded my mind. I walked at a faster pace, calling “Hunter! Hunter!” until my voice trailed off in sad whispers of anguish and premonition. All the while she was safely in the house, with Buzzi who was hiding her as his idea of a practical joke. When I saw her, a wave of relief in the form of glitter washed over me and my tears fell gracefully... I played with her, tickled her tum and couldn’t admonish her when she scratched me and licked me right on the lips. That’s when I knew I loved her true and deep.

“Happiness is a warm puppy.” - Charles M. Schulz

Then the evil cat flu reigned for about two days. God knows I regret with every fibre in my body not having her vaccinated against it. For three days, the sparkle from her eyes was gone, her appetite was lost, her energy levels dropped below 0 degrees and her weight was shedding drastically. She wouldn’t take her meds, wouldn’t stand up right for longer than a minute, her mouth was covered in foam and her poo was a red stinky liquid that exited her body with painful effort. We tried, we prayed and we kept our hopes up. I lay next to her, rubbing her coat and thinking how ridiculous it is to declare healing over her body in the name of Jesus: the precious healing that is reserved and anointed for a human body. But I remembered the scripture that says “If you pray in His name and you believe, it will be done”. So I prayed.

In my sleep, I heard Hunter panting next to me. I awoke with urgency and tried to feeding her some liquid, which went down her throat with no effort. She gasped with dangerous finality and fear. I woke my sister up so she could do something and I sat at a distance as I watched her calming Hunter down as she took her last breath. It was 02:30 in the morning. It was 02:30 a.m. on the 7th of February 2016 when my heart was ripped from my body, to settle on Hunters lifeless face and I cried hysterically. I called Buzzi and cried harder as I realised that I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Hunter was gone. Hunter is gone.

Forever and always, 

We love you...

 & Buzzi