02/23/2025
I thought I would share Andrea’s post of Chinooks passing. She definitely will feel the loss of such a special pup.
I’m heartbroken to share the departure of Chinook - my dog, my love, my heart, my life. This dog was impossible, but possibly the greatest dog ever. Naughty, beautiful, stubborn, athletic, and the perfect storm…just as her name suggested. I’ve written a long tribute (included below) to celebrate her, and to help ease the visceral ache running through my body. No need to read it. However, if you do, I hope it helps you deal with your own wild rescue, loss of a furry pal, or just makes you laugh because you’re human. ❤️💔❤️💔❤️
CHINOOK - September 15th (ish) 2011 - February 19th 2025
A Tribute to Chinook - my Best/Monkey Bear/Babba Bear/Chiknucklehead/Chinooky
It is with the most heavy heart ever that I let you know that my beloved Chinook was compassionately and peacefully laid to rest at home this week. Her crossing over the rainbow bridge was quiet and tranquil, but to be clear, life with Chinook wasn’t always this way. I brought this sweet adorable puppy home from the Humane Society with thoughts of changing her name. However, if you know anything about the Chinook weather system, you would understand that it described her to a tee - dramatic, unpredictable, and WILD. So, the name stuck.
Chinook was not an easy puppy. She was a Reservation Dog, and was small for her kind. She clearly had to fight for food & water, and did not win. This was displayed early on in the form of an insatiated thirst. I could honestly convince her to drop a T-bone steak for a few licks of water. This led to her favourite discovery as a puppy - a toilet bowl. As it turns out, if you keep drinking from these incredible vessels, the water level never depletes. Her new revelation was the beginning of the many “instructions” that came with being in Chinook’s company. Rule #1 - close the toilet bowl lid.
Chinook’s personality was….should we say….an acquired taste? She barked, showed her teeth, and terrified both strangers and loved ones many times. If a new person was being introduced, I would need to do a 10 minute explanation of how to behave when you meet her (Rule #2 - Rule #4 = don’t put your hand out, just ignore her, let her approach). Introductions mostly went well, though living up to her name, it was unpredictable which person or animal she would be terrified of, like, dislike, or love. The good news is that like every storm, her fears would pass, and It was well known that once Chinook trusted you and warmed up, she loved harder than any breathing thing could ever love. She transformed the most terrified dog haters into her best pals, and worked her way into many hearts, homes, couches, laps (and you are correct to think she was far too large for most laps), cars, beds, and cushions.
Chinook loved to run. It was a very cold December when I adopted her. She loved winter, and enjoyed being outside in it no matter how frigid it was. I do not. This led to problems between us when she would take off at dog parks, and not be interested in coming back to the truck until she had run a million miles. I knew that for both of our sakes, I would have to figure out a way to tire her more efficiently, and though I promised myself I’d never become one of those “chuck it” dog owners, I became one. I would bring that darn things and at least two balls to the park so that while I walked for 3km, she sprinted for 9km. Somehow, that would only manage to tire her out for a few hours. Then soon after we’d get home, she’d proceed to bring bath towels, toys, shoes, or anything she could find to convince me to get her outside again. You’d think these kinds of excursions and dog walks with a cute puppy would be joyous. Nope. Not with Chinook. She was scared of everyone, everything, loud noises, not-so-loud noises, her shadow, people with umbrellas, people wearing puffy jackets (which were everywhere because it was so damn cold), and so so so much more. Chinook also had to drink every puddle no matter how filthy, lick up ALL the snow (I called her the snow lawn mower), and eat anything that had some semblance of food. I would have to cross the road if someone was walking in our direction, explain to everyone who did pass to "just ignore her" as her teeth were out, and be constantly on the look out for anything that would trigger her. Not fun. Not fun at all.
Chinook was very smart, and knew how to beat the system. I spoke with Vets and Trainers about how I could curb her bad behaviours. I started with a Citronella Colar. She loved it!!!! Flavourful water spraying into her face every time she misbehaved? Perfection! I bought a bark collar, but when I realized she was a vocal player, I took it off immediately. I hired a trainer, who used a clicker and other methods. It helped a bit, but not completely. In the end, like a responsible and loving dog owner, I went the route of “ positive reenforcement” with pats & treats. Chinook abused this system her entire 13.5 years, misbehaving with full knowledge she’d get a treat as soon as she was caught, then made appropriate corrections.
Chinook LOVED parties, mostly because they included charcuterie boards. She appreciated fine food, and could jump over, squeeze through, or reach over any barrier created to prevent her from eating it. She was remarkably crafty, and many of us have witnessed Olympic caliber athleticism and strength as Chinook opened sliding doors, pulled herself up on counters, leapt over chairs, and crawled through incredibly small spaces in pursuit of a delicious bite.
Chinook loved meal time, and each morning and evening would begin with her ritual of being let out the back door, sprinting to the front door, pawing it violently until we’d open it up, then bounding to her bowl. If I didn’t work quickly enough, she would bang on the bowl or anything near it to ensure I hadn’t forgotten to fill it up. A part of this routine having her go outside to the bathroom after waking up or before dinner. She would often “fake pee” thinking that by doing the motion but not actually peeing, it would trick me to feeding her more quickly. This led to me having to supervise pees to ensure the deed was done.
Chinook loved road trips and outdoor adventures. She was my best travel companion, hiking buddy, and camping pal. Together we stayed in several Hotels, Airbnbs, on beaches, in campgrounds, and many nights in my camper Van. While I drove, her head would rest either on my hand or on the window sill if the window was down, merrily capturing raindrops & snowflakes, the breeze in her hair, and smelling all the smells. My Camper Van was a right drive, and it brought many chuckles & much joy to all those who would pass us or see us on the road with a dog in the driver’s seat.
Chinook LOVED love. If I could have miraculously morphed into an octopus with 8 hands that pet her constantly, this would have been her 4th wish, ever so slightly behind endless access to toilet bowls, food, and open fields. She would come in gently with kisses and sweetness, and you’d begin with a few deserving pats. Then, when you’d stop, she would nudge your arm with her head or paw you violently until you’d begin again. Many open wounds were of consequence from taking a break from petting her while she was at your side.
Chinook was famous for her Zoomies. Everyone who knew her well, who cared for her, or who visited witnessed these in abundance. When she younger, we would drive an hour or so out to the mountains for a hike. She would get out of the vehicle, and do several zoomies at the base of the trail. Then, we’d hike for hours, and once we were down from the hike, off she’d go - several final zoomies to properly tire herself out. She did zoomies right until the end. They were a bit slower, and were sometimes only a few laps of the house (2 acre property to be clear), but it was blissful to watch.
For nearly 11 years, Chinook ensured it was just her & I. She would scare off any possible suiters, would bark incessantly if I stopped to talk to anyone out in public, was unapproachable, and made bringing her anywhere a challenge not generally worth undertaking. You can imagine how great that was for my dating life. 🥴 That said, she gave me all the love I could ever want or need, especially when life was hard. She laid on my chest and heart for hours the day my mom passed away, was there to support me through many incredibly difficult times, and was gentle when I needed to heal from many sports injuries and surgeries. She was also understanding when I dropped her off or had someone move in to care for her for a month at a time during the several years I was back & forth to Thailand for work. I was lucky enough to have some very brave and beautiful souls look after Chinook during those years. This was not an easy job, and I am forever grateful to all of you who sacrificed much of your sanity for the sake of mine. Chinook loved all of you very much, and I know if she could say “sorry for being a pain”, she would. This would likely be followed up by being a pain, but making up for it with many kisses and much affection.
With good fortune, Chinook was a much calmer dog when I met Sean and his then 3 year old daughter Lizzy a few years ago. I had Chinook’s full support. She very quickly warmed to both of them, and them to her. Once we moved in together, Chinook surprisingly became an incredible family dog. She would greet Lizzy at the door after school with barks & full body squeaks (she only did this for a few people), loved morning walks to the bus stop, snuggles on the couch, and was thrilled when we’d cheer her on while she did her zoomies around the house. "Go Chinook Go!”
Chinook’s last 2 and a 1/2 years were spent in our Cabin on an acreage. I had never seen her so calm and content as she was in this home, and believe it’s because she was mirroring my own emotions. She saw me in my happy place, knew I was going to be looked after, and was ready to allow me to make room in my world for my new life and family. Watching her decline was one of the hardest things I’ve ever witnessed. I’ll never forget coming downstairs one morning last summer to see that she had an accident at night on the couch (and yes, she was allowed on the couch in this house) where she was sleeping. Even as I puppy, she didn’t have accidents. When it happened again a couple nights later, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t so much the accidents that were the clue, but the way she looked at me at lunch time while sitting outside on the deck. “Mom….I’m sick.” Off to the vet we went to learn she had a very serious UTI, had lost 14 pounds (hard to notice when you see her every day), and had heart disease. For 9 months, she did not complain once while she battled through several more infections, incontinence, a dripping snotty nose (wow - we saw some award winning sneezy snot flings), coughing fits, and limbs that just weren’t as agile as they once were. She was absolutely cheerful right until the end, but when I heard her breathing becoming laboured at rest one evening, I made the call. It was time. On her last full day, we went for a farewell tour car ride, she gave Lizzy the full body barky squeaks when she came home, and she enjoyed her dinner of kibble & tripe & treats. I slept with her on the couch that night. She’d been roused by several coughing fits each night for about a few months, but not this night. She was completely calm and peaceful, which I’m convinced was for both of our benefits.
Chinook had an ability to both frustrate but also make me laugh every single day of her life. This great dichotomy of emotions were in full force the last few hours of her life. It was the morning of her departure, and we decided we wanted Chinook’s “live” paw prints as a keepsake. We picked a few paint colours we all loved, and Sean put a big piece of plywood down on the floor in the kitchen. We then built a barricade to ensure Chinook was blocked in the kitchen until we both achieved our goal and cleaned her paws. We then placed a shoe mat full of small heaps of paint on one side of the plywood. With treats in hand, the idea was to entice Chinook to walk on the paint heaps, then continue to walk on the plywood capturing colourful and perfectly formed paw prints. This did NOT go to plan. Chinook was most definitely excited for the treats, splashed but somehow mostly missed stepping in the paint, then proceeded to smudge paint all over the plywood in desperate pursuit of her reward. After a few minutes of this chaos, it was time for Sean to get Lizzy off to school. After they left, I remained determined to get at least 1 colourful paw print, and thought I’d employ one of Chinook’s bounteous number of tricks to accomplish this goal. I proceeded to squeeze a significant amount of fuchsia, purple, and turquoise paint into the palm of my left hand. I then scooped up a disgusting handful of canned tripe with my right palm. “Shake a paw” I demanded, and that she did. With a huge splat, paint splashed all over her paw, ear, nose, leg, then made one final landing to create a very smudged paw print on the plywood. At this point, I was laughing out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of this scene, and decided it was time to clean both her and I up and lean into some final snuggle time. I continued to giggle while I turned around for no more than 20 seconds to wash the paint and tripe off my hands in the kitchen sink. I spun around to see that Chinook had cleverly hurdled the barricade we created, and had left several colourful paw prints all over the main floor en route to a blanket set up for her on the couch. In my frustration, I grabbed the half full can of tripe, hollering “Chinook Down”. This positive reinforcement/rewarding bad behaviour training tool I learned had worked for 13.5 years, but not this time. There was no way I was going to convince her to come down from that couch. After all, she’d eaten more of her favourite food and treats in the last hour than she had in the several months, drank several muddy puddles mere minutes ago, and had navigated her way to her favourite part of the couch, ironically adjacent to the ONLY perfectly formed paw print. She was colourfully painted, full to the brim with her favourite delicacies, on a couch she hadn’t been allowed on since her incontinence began months ago, and awaiting her final slumber. There I was, lying right beside her, well over my frustration, and both laughing and crying about the fact that the dramatic, unpredictable, wild, but very wonderful Chinook was innately herself right until the end.
Chinook is survived by her two cat brothers, who only remain alive because they never tried to eat her food. She also leaves behind the most heartbroken mama, family, and many friends who loved the heck out of this wild dog. Rest easy girl. You were impossible, but possibly the best dog I could have ever asked for.
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