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The Rajun Cajun
There were nine in your litter, and you were the only red.
Dad went to visit and called: "There are nine puppies
and eight of them are following the little red guy around;
I'm bringing him home." And so began our journey with
you, our second show dog. But too soon, our sweet boy was
literally stolen from his home and our hearts. It was
supposed to be a long and difficult journey. It was not
near as long as we would have liked. The pain of your
loss has not diminished. We remember you with love, with
pride, and with laughter.
You were red and red was NOT the color choice for a
Siberian Husky at that time; everybody thought we
were crazier than they already knew us to be. But we
were so smart * we knew everything * you taught us that.
Bandit was wonderful and he had been our first choice.
Our second dog was even better. And you were our only
choice from the beginning. This winning and showing stuff
was a snap! It was natural and with your fondness for
supported entries, you rarely worked for nothing --
witness the BOXES of awards and trophies. Just show up
and take a group placement. How little we knew.
Exceptional structure and even better temperament (another
½ inch, and a little better foot and croup would have
been nice but hey, no one's perfect!); and if the value of
a dog is in what he produces, you hit home runs almost
every time! And those pups that weren't "homers"
were always "extra base hits."
You were quirky; with eclectic preferences. Never had
another dog that literally spent hours, laying on his side
to try and individually unwrap the chain-link fencing in
his run. You didn't succeed but it seemed that
persistence was its own reward. Getting out meant you
could go sit by the cedar fence at the back of the house
and try to get in * with or without help * The runs inside
that fence meant either it was show-time or you met a
girlfriend. Mr. Smarty-pants spent so much time just
sitting, waiting to be let in * talk about lost playtime!
* But you were a special boy with special privileges and
you knew it. You BELONGED inside.
You were the best at going for opening sliding glass
doors, biking at the track * where did you get that
stamina??? * acting superior in ignoring the pups, teasing
the girls, eating your favorite ice-cream (although not
nearly as much as you wanted), digging, begging for
carrots (never did get that catching thing down, though).
So talented ~ a real "Renaissance dog."
I came home for lunch that day, May 23, 1995, to check on
you and your girlfriend. What a charmer! She just loved
you * we got home again at 5:00 p.m. * and there she
stood, alone, looking so very sad: Where's Cajun?
Where's my boyfriend? What happened to him? If only we
knew. The heartbreak had begun and the nightmare has
never ended.
What you were was incalculable. So adored. Not just a
show dog; you were our very own pie-eating,
carrot-begging, girl-chasing little Romeo. Losing you
almost stopped us cold. But your boy Flyer, and your
girlfriend, Hank, said we weren't finished yet. That you
would never want us to quit and not see the results of
YOUR hard work.
Cajun, we were blessed to be your custodians for a short
period. Your loss is a wound that has not healed, and
being denied closure has meant its own special
devastation. We placed our faith in a belief that whoever
had taken our beloved boy needed him worse than we did;
that somehow there was a reason for this horrible,
unexplained act that we could not prevent.
We have missed you so, dear boy, and pray that you have
found grace and peace and, perhaps, after all these
years, have crossed the Bridge to join your buddy Bandit,
and your sweetheart, Hank, and to meet the new kids
(including your grandson, The Magic Man) that will be
part of our family when we see you again.
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