It's taken me over a week to write this post as I have struggled to find the right words to say good-bye to Hobo.
He was truly a one of a kind dog. Every day we had with him was bonus time. The very first night he was here a wolf came through our yard and tried to turn Hobo into her dinner. I didn't even know his name as we rushed him to the vet. Had no idea how I was going to explain this to the musher who actually owned him at the time. Jim Bartlett, if you find this somehow, thank you for leaving Hobo with us. At the time, maybe it looked like we were doing you a favour, taking on the cost of a badly injured dog who would like never run competively again, but Hobo was actually a gift to us.
Hobo was unfailingly happy. It didn't matter that we were strangers or that he was in pain. He was happy someone was feeding him and petting him. For every single day he was here, he was happy. Hobo truly lived his life, every damn second of it. He believed in finding the joy in everything from meeting new friends to running in harness to slow walks down to the lake. He never wasted a second worrying or looking back. The world would be a better place if people could be more like Hobo!
Hobo turned 17 this year...17, a remarkable age for any dog, stunning for a dog who's body had been through what his had. In the end, Hobo had simply used up every ounce of energy his body had to give. His enormous heart and will to live was still strong, but his little body just couldn't keep up anymore. There are many things I miss about Hobo, but more than anything I miss his happy presence, his boundless joy. I will try to remember the lesson he tried to so hard to teach...that life should be enjoyed even if you have to search for the joy.
Godspeed and thank you, Hobo.
