Nicholas Ivan Snowbear

Nick 1988 - 2002

On April 23, 2002 we lost the second of the famous three Samoyeds. Nick was the best dog ever, and I will always miss him. The photograph was painted using Corel Painter oil brushes. This is the story I wrote about him.

NICHOLAS IVAN SNOWBEAR

Nick was the second of the famous three – Minka, Nick and Flash.

It was love at second sight. First sight was not promising. He arrived, pulling his owner on a short leash, hopelessly matted and tick infested. He looked huge and powerful and a little scary, not at all like the compact little Minka. His owner was moving to Atlanta and could not take Nick. His vet, and also ours, sent the young man our way, knowing that we had a Samoyed, and thinking surely we would want two. His owner, obviously upset, had waited until the last minute to make arrangements for his dog, and announced that if we couldn’t take Nick he would have to go to the pound the next day.

I was not in favor of this addition to our family, although nobody believes this. I sent the young man off, nevertheless, to get Nick cleaned up, and agreed to take him long enough to find a home for him. Nick was returned while I was not at home, and I dreaded walking in the house and finding the anticipated chaos. The front door opened to silence and I cautiously proceeded to find all people and dogs quietly watching TV. Minka had checked him out and found him acceptable, and he had found a comfortable spot and parked himself as though he planned to stay awhile.

So, there he was, a two-year old, sixty-five pound, outsized Samoyed with a coat like a lion and Elvis eyes. There was never even a hint of a discussion of finding him another home. He stayed with us for the next twelve years.

The opposite of a scary dog, he was gentle and sweet and very, very serious. He was so solemn that his nickname soon became Milhous. Minka bounced around trying to get him to play, but he didn’t know what to do with toys even when she hit him in the nose with one. He had his favorite spots and routes by which to reach them, but he always made his way with an unhurried amble, in direct contrast to the dancing Minka. It wasn’t that he wasn’t strong, because he could climb a a chain link fence, jump over a baby gate or thunder across the yard in record time whenever he had to investigate any dog that had had the temerity to approach the fence. Since he was never in a hurry, he didn’t mind stopping for you to give him a hug. We were used to Minka, who could not stand to be restrained in any way, not even for hugs and kisses.

He would take food and treats and barely brush his lips against your hand. When we had to take care of a litter of puppies whose mother (Minka) would not feed them, Nick hovered over them anxiously. After we bottle fed them, we would hold them out to him, and he would lick them just like the mother was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, the puppies were all sick, and despite our and Nick’s efforts, they all died.  Minka’s instincts had told her this all along.

Sometime before he came to live with us he had developed a fear of storms. He thought he was safe with us, so when he sensed a storm (about when it passed over Memphis) he searched for us. Ninety pounds (he’d gained a little weight) of dog arriving abruptly in your bed was a sure sign of an approaching storm. One day I developed the same fear. Tornadoes were dropping out of the sky all over middle Tennessee. I cleared the coat closet in the hall under the stairs and took all three dogs and a cell phone in for safety. Nick pushed his way to the back of the closet ahead of all of us and took up residence. He was sweet, but not inclined to share refuge. Minka didn’t care anyway, so she volunteered to the the one half-in and half-out of the door. When I called the all-clear, Nick didn’t believe me and stayed in the darkest recess of sanctuary. From that time on he would stand by the closet when a storm made him anxious.

Samoyeds are Siberian sled dogs, so naturally, they revel in cold weather. Nick would sit outside in his corner in freezing temperatures like it was a day at the beach. I used to laugh when the weather person announced some arctic temperature (in Tennessee that starts at about thirty-two degrees), and issued the warning to be sure to bring pets inside. One freezing, rainy day he came in such a mess that I hauled him to the tub. After I had washed the mud off, a section of 2 x 4 lumber floated into the tub from where it had been frozen to his belly.

In the spring, however, there came that day when the combination of temperature and humidity became unacceptibe to Samoyeds, and the annual shift to lying on the air conditioning vents occurred. That signaled time for the summer haircut. Minka looked darling. Nick was ridiculous. Although short hair was too informal to suit his personality, Nick’s thick coat was a nuisance and prized at the same time. The 2 x 4 was the heaviest object to get caught in it, but he collected some impressive branches and other assorted forms of plant life, bringing about the nickname of Chief Leaf in his Tail.

I found a bird nest in our yard, carefully constructed by mama bird with strands of Samoyed hair. The long, guard hairs were woven outside and the downy, soft undercoat formed the inner lining. A friend in the Handweavers’ Guild took bags of fur from summer haircuts to weave into cloth. We think nothing about cloth from sheep’s wool, but we all carried enough dog hair sticking to us without deliberately making our clothes out of it!

At age fourteen, Nick was physically worn out. His joints weren’t supporting him very well, stairs caused him pain and breathing was difficult. Finally he developed a terrible sore on his elbow that was going to require surgery to repair. We didn’t think he could tolerate that.  He missed Minka, and on April 23, 2002, we let him go with her. We will plant another dogwood near Minka’s in the backyard and bury his ashes there.