You Go Ahead, We’ll Catch Up

Our dear Westi passed away in her sleep on the night of May 23, 2024. She was nearly 14 years old. We are, of course, heartbroken.

But the truth is, she gave us a lot of time to prepare for her departure. Last July, she started suffering strokes – from mild to severe – every few months. Each time she recovered, though never back to 100%. We knew her time with us was limited, and we were grateful that she made it through Nevie’s first year, so we can have some memories of them both together.

Westi was on-of-a-kind. We wouldn’t really call her a “good dog.” In fact, she would probably be offended if we did. A “good girl,” maybe? But “good dog?” She. would. never.  You see, Westi didn’t identify as a dog. She solidly believed she was “people.” 

When Westi was a puppy, she used to do the most adorable thing. Steve and I lived in a two story house at the time – living room on the first floor, bedrooms on the second. If one of us went to sleep before the other, she would lay at the top of the stairs, keeping an eye on us both. She would not choose between us. This anecdote played out for many years – she did not have a favorite between Steve and I. She seemed to love us both equally – eager to make both of us happy.

But then, around the time she turned 10, Westi had an epiphany. She realized there was only one person she needed to please. And that person was…. herself. No longer did she unquestionably “obey” our commands. Gone was her blind loyalty and easy-going demeanor. After 10 years of putting up with these fools – she had earned an equal share in this partnership, gosh darn it! It was time she got the respect she deserved. 

Hence, the era of Westi as “people” was ushered into our lives. She became demanding, entitled, and opinionated. Steve and I could still out-vote her, true. But she was going to make her feelings known. And if she didn’t like our choice, you better believe you’d hear about it.

Don’t get me wrong, we 100% subscribe to the mantra, “To love a dog, is to treat them like one.” But Westi had a way of bending our wills. We often just ended up integrating her desires into our day-to-day life, figuring if we could set-up a system to appease Westi without inconveniencing us too much, what’s the harm? Well, that only fueled her people-ness. And before we knew it, Westi was the main character in the novel of our lives.

We adopted Westi from Orange County Animal Care, the local shelter in our area. We had visited 4-5 times before we found her. She was a runaway, picked up off the streets but with a collar on. They had her at the facility for a week, and when no one claimed her, up for adoption she went! They told us she was 5 or 6 or 7 months old… who really knew? And they famously guessed she’d be around 40-50 lbs fully grown. They lied. She became an 80 lbs beast with long legs and a periscope tail that rose above our platform bed. 

She was a beautiful creature with soft, shiny black fur that glistened in the sun. Her dotted, tan eyebrows gave her a certain expressiveness that made it easy to gauge her mood. When she was younger, we’d always get stopped by strangers as they told us how gorgeous she was and to ask us her breed. “Doberman, lab, shepherd, with a little hound mixed in,” we’d say. A DNA test would later confirm this guess, minus the hound part. But she sounded so much like one when she barked, (AH-OOO-ooo-ooo) that we still believe it was in there somewhere. 

Westi spent the first part of her life in Southern California, laying in the sun and counting the moments until we took her to the beach. It was her favorite place. Toss a ball or stick into the ocean, and she’d race in head first, crashing into the waves and paddling hard to reach her prize. Please note, she never actually brought the ball back to us. She’d scoop it up in her mouth, bring it to shore, and prance around in pride. We’d have to chase her down in order to throw it again. 

She could swim for HOURS. She was a loppy, clumsy, and slooow runner. But put her in the water, and she’d gracefully glide along, each powerful stroke moving her considerable body with ease.

The Retriever part in her was strong, and INCREDIBLY stubborn. We have story after story of her chasing ducks, geese, and their babies across lakes and ponds and rivers. If she got her nose on them, it was over. She wouldn’t listen to anyone or anything. We’d yell, whistle, wave sticks or balls. But for the most part, we just had to watch helplessly on the shore as she meandered across the water, trailing angry mama fowl who were incessantly quacking or honking their displeasure. Onlookers would either watch in amazement at Westi’s stamina or begrudge the monster in the water with the terrible owners. I was always fairly mortified, while Steve thought it was hilarious. And Westi? Indifferent to both of us – she just knew she had the time of her life.

Westi’s second life began when we moved to Oregon 4 years ago. She became a bonafide mountain dog and was truly impressive on trail. She’d scramble up rocks, leap over downed trees, and forge rivers like it was nothing. She would follow us anywhere – especially Steve. I was generally a little too slow and timid for her liking. But she’d keep up with Steve (who if you didn’t know, is an exceptionally fast hiker) for MILES. I’d always be plodding away behind them, trying to appreciate the view of their cute butts.

But, perhaps there is nothing she loved more than Bustache. We got Westi just 3 or 4 months after acquiring him. Her name, if you didn’t know, comes from Westfalia, the name of the famed pop-top camping conversion for VW buses. When his engine turned over, she’d come running, knowing excitement was just around the corner. She’d jump up on HER perch – the platform between the rear window and the back seat – ready to go. In general, she hated car rides, but Bustache was different. He was an adventure mobile, and she was down for it. We spent thousands of miles glancing up at the rearview mirror only to see her sleepy, contented face. 

Westi was an only child for 13 years, and she loved every second of it. When Nevada came into our lives last May, Westi completely ignored her for the first 4 months. She pretty much treated Nevie like she did any dog that came into our house – tolerating them only because she knew they would eventually leave. Well, when Nevie didn’t leave, Westi slowly came to terms with her new reality. She became a reluctant older sibling who wouldn’t be left out, but wouldn’t necessarily be an enthusiastic participant either. She showed Nevie the ropes, though. Especially when it came to costumes. “Gotta be willing to be dressed up if you’re going to make it in this family,” she’d say. Eventually Nevie started using her as a jungle gym, which Westi allowed. But when she would try to steal Westi’s food, Westi would come find us, wherever we were, and bark loudly – tattling on her little sister. 

Westi’s favorite snack was cheese. She loved baking in the sun. She never met a tutu she didn’t want to wear. She needed full access to being indoors or outdoors at all times. Sometimes she would bark at us to open the back door, only to turn around and lay in the living room. She just wanted us to know she was annoyed that we had the audacity to close it in the first place. She was goofy sometimes and stately others. She would get real mad if not properly greeted when visitors came to our house.

And a last thing we’ll note, Westi was with us during the hardest times of our lives. She kept me company during my active addiction, gave Steve solace when we were separated, and provided continuity to our relationship as we reconciled. Her unconditional love was the most dog-like thing about her. 

The issue with fur-babies is that, unlike human children, if all goes according to plan, if conditions are absolutely IDEAL, your pup will die before you do. In the most perfect of scenarios, you will be forced to grapple with their death. It is the terrible reality of having and loving a dog. Something you strangely hope for, but completely dread. 

: We’d been dreading Thursday night for a long time. But it finally came. Probably the result of another stroke, old age, and a life well lived. Westi was such a huge part of us, that I don’t know if our family will ever feel completely whole again. 

Westi-girl, We hope the hoops we jumped through to make you happy, the thousands of dollars of vet bills we paid to keep you healthy, and the millions of doors we opened and closed, opened and closed, showed you how much we love you. We miss you. We miss you. Oh do we miss you! We like to imagine that you’re running free on trail, next to a crystal river filled with baby ducks. It’s alright girl, you go ahead. We’ll catch up with you in a bit.