An Introduction
Hubert my grandfather’s Alaskan malamute was a major joy in my family’s life. He was one hundred ten pounds of pure black and white fur, and muscle. He was the biggest most handsome goof in the whole wide world. My parents and I drove to a frozen farm country between Ottawa and Montreal, Canada; we picked up the newly born puppy and took him home. My grand pap came back from his vacation and received a warm welcome, full of licking, and jumping. This new malamute was to replace his old one named Lenny that had recently passed away from old age. My grand pap missed him dearly.
In their companionship Hubert and my grand pap went through many joyful times, they were inseparable. Summers, they hiked in Colorado together. They came to all my baseball games and he became the mascot of my baseball team, he looked like our husky logo. He was known throughout Tribeca, everyone loved him; the neighborhood elementary school had a big picture of him in one of the classrooms, one of the brunch restaurants gave him croissants as he swaggered on their daily walks. The fancy hotel Locanda Verde up the street from where they used to live would always come with a treat. The local pet store would give him free stuffed pumpkin toys. Strangers repeatedly stopped to take pictures, and to ask questions, my grandpa called them the “dogarazzi” (like paparazzi). My personal favorite time with him, when we really bonded, was when he howled his deep rumbling wolf cry whenever I played saxophone. Everyone enjoyed those times.
Life wasn’t always easy with this alpha beast. His size and popularity led to many awkward situations. In Martha’s Vineyard, skunks sprayed him. While playing with another dog they ran into a woman and broke her hip, once he started running he couldn’t stop, Watch Out! Usually a big goof, Hubert could be very intimidating too, if he didn’t want a stranger saying hello, he would talk his gruff malamute talk, it meant,” get away.” On one specific occasion, a Texas tourist didn’t get the message, he got the fangs, a visit to the ER, and a bunch of stitches. This was the last of the hard ships, he was getting old.
A Sad End to a Reign of Companionship
“ Da Da Da Da DaDa,” my dad’s Godzilla sized phone blared out an annoying and repeating ringtone at eight on a quiet and peaceful Saturday morning. “Hubert isn’t doing well,” my grandfather said with a worrisome voice, “He can’t get up and we need to get him to a vet. “Be right over,” my dad replied, he left the house with a dolly and a slab of plywood. My mom and I were left alone. We bought some bagels and went for a nice walk in Fort Greene Park with our dog Luna. We were having a splendid time, the sun was shining, the grass was green, summer was just beginning, and we were excited for our upcoming trip to Africa, but a strong storm in the back of our heads was constantly wondering, what was going on with Hubert. We were itching to know.
Curiosity got the better of us. My mom and I rushed into the veterinary clinic; a young nurse led us into a small, cold, tiled, fluorescent-lighted room. The first sight was Hubert, a huge breathing carpet of fur with an IV tube sticking out of a front paw and a bandage wrapped around one of his back legs. His stomach was swelling. Hubert was clearly in pain. Silence was among us for what seemed like years. “Their gonna have to put him down” my grandpa said breaking the silence that encompassed us a second ago. My Aunty Dain was sobbing, I saw my grandfather cry for the first time, and my dad didn’t say a single word. With those five melancholy words, I began to sob as well, deep sympathy, something I have never felt before, lodged in my throat bringing out nothing but sorrow and longing for this magical creature. We all took turns hugging and kissing him a final good bye. “Good bye Hubert, I love you, I will miss you, you will have your own spot in my heart forever, good bye.” These were the last words this magnificent beast heard from my mouth, my heart.
