FORT KENT, Maine — I couldn’t tell you if the skies over Rusty Metal Farm have been clear enough the past several nights for stargazing.
Checking out the after dark celestial shows was something I had been doing for more than a decade, thanks to everyone’s favorite shusky Corky the house dog and our nightly before-going-to-bed walkies.
Sometimes it would be a quick in and out, and other times I’d slap on a pair of snowshoes, clip on a headlamp and we’d do a nocturnal circuit of the trails around the farm.
As a friend pointed out this week, stargazing was Corky’s gift to me.
According to an online BDN linked search engine, I’ve written about Corky 125 times in the 12 years she lived on Rusty Metal Farm.
This column is the 126th and quite likely last time I will do so.
That’s because last Sunday, after dark, when there may or may not have been visible stars to guide her way, Corky left Rusty Metal Farm for the last time.
And I miss my friend very, very much.
Corky arrived here 12 years ago, a tiny, fuzzy 8-week-old pup with brown eyes and floppy ears — part of a litter resulting from a tryst between my fellow musher John Kaleta’s sheltie house dog Star and a husky named Scruffy.
It was my friend Kim who, upon learning of that canine combination, first called those pups, “shuskies.”
My late husband Patrick and I watched as she matured from a pup through some very awkward “teen” months, when she appeared to be more ears and neck than anything else and into the medium-sized dog with the long nose for getting into trouble that we all knew and loved.
Sometimes she was so sneaky it would be hours before I discovered what she’d gotten into.
Other times greed outdid stealth, like the time I found her sitting next to her dog bed in which was a half-eaten bag of gourmet popcorn and a trail of popped kernels leading to the scene of the crime.
Or the time I foolishly left Corky and a half-rack of barbecue ribs alone for just a few minutes in my newly detailed vehicle.
I came back to find no ribs, and the truck and Corky each “detailed” in a layer of barbecue sauce.
I’ve been fortunate to have some great dogs in my life, but Corky, well, she was a dog apart.
In the winter she was my cross-country skiing buddy and companion as I groomed trails using the snowmobile.
She’d run happily along, tongue lolling and, when tired, would hop on the Ski-doo and ride for a while.
In warmer months, she was a constant companion on walks around the farm, be they for relaxation or for gathering firewood.
During the day she was at my side as I wrote, and at night she slept at the foot of my bed.
Not unlike yours truly, Corky was not a girly-girl, but she did enjoy her spa days at the Fort Kent Animal Hospital, often returning from an appointment smelling sweet, sporting hair accessories and painted toe nails.
And she did love her friends at the animal hospital who took such good care of her.
When she was diagnosed last year with beef allergies, the ladies there made sure to always have shusky-safe carrots or other treats on hand for her.
When Patrick died in 2008, Corky became something of an emotional therapy dog and got me through some very, very dark times. Sometimes by just her very presence or with a gentle nudge of that long nose or by more active help.
That first winter without Patrick was also the record snow year in northern Maine, and keeping one step ahead of the snow piling up on outbuildings was a bit overwhelming.
One day, I noticed a small shed near the sled dogs was looking like it was ready to collapse because of the snow load, so off I went with shovel in hand, shusky at my side.
I don’t know how long I dug at the snow on and around that shed, but at one point I simply could not take it. That unyielding pile of snow was suddenly symbolic of every challenge I was facing as a new widow.
I threw down the damn shovel and just started to sob.
Then I looked up and, several feet away, in a corner I had managed to dig out, there was Corky, digging at that snow with her front paws a mile a minute.
She looked up at me as if to say, “It’s OK, mom. I’ve got this.”
Corky and my dad were great buddies, and I do have him to thank for teaching her what was probably her least endearing trait — the ability to open doors.
It would not have been so bad if she’d had just shut them behind her. Especially in the winter, when it was well below zero.
When my dad had to go into assisted living in Van Buren, Corky would accompany me on my visits to him at Borderview until his death last year.
There, she not only brightened my dad’s final days but the days of everyone with whom she came in contact.
Then about a month ago I started noticing some changes in my friend.
She was attacking her food and treats with less and less gusto. On our afternoon romps around the pond with several free-running sled dogs she was having a harder time keeping up.
And she was sleeping. A lot.
So last week I took her to see Dr. Christiana Yule at the Fort Kent Animal Hospital. Several tests later, we learned we were dealing with a very sick shusky with a fast acting cancer.
We talked about possible treatments, extending her life with numerous medications, but as I saw her fading this past weekend, finding no joy in those things she had loved for 12 years — running, eating and going places with me — and after consulting my friends Kim and Julie who knew Corky well, I acknowledged the time had come.
In fact, on Sunday, when we took our last pond walkies together, her eyes and body language were telling me she was ready for her next adventure.
That evening, lying peacefully on her corner of the couch she let Dr. Yule administer the drugs that transported her on that journey.
As I held her, Corky looked at me the entire time and, I swear to you all right now, in those eyes, before she closed them for the last time, she silently communicated, “It’s OK, mom. I’ve got this.”
Then she was on her way to the stars.
Julia Bayly of Fort Kent is an award-winning writer and photographer who writes part-time for Bangor Daily News. Her column appears here every other Friday. She can be reached by email at jbayly@bangordailynews.com.
