FORT KENT, Maine — There’s an old saying that “a house is not a home without a dog.”
For the past several weeks, since the death of my beloved house dog Corky the Shusky, my house here on Rusty Metal Farm has never felt like less of a home.
That is in no way meant to take away the love between myself and the Rusty Metal sled dogs.
But they are kennel dogs, the working dogs of Rusty Metal Farm — their spa days notwithstanding. I am missing the constant presence of a four-legged buddy in the house very, very much.
That void was driven home on a recent trip up to Winnipeg to visit my friend Julie and her new canine companion, Lil Bean, a rescue senior Chihuahua.
I had no idea dogs came in size extra-extra small. Or that so much personality could be packed into a 3½-pound body.
I’d been mourning Corky pretty hard, and little Lil Bean reminded me that dogs — and our memories of our good dogs — should not be about tears or sorrow. Dogs are about unabashed joy and happily living in the moment — something Bean cheerfully does.
Not much is known about Bean’s life before Julie adopted her through the Manitoba-based organization Before the Bridge Senior K9 Rescue.
We know she originally came from California and that she is around 10 years old. We know that at some point she had serious dental issues, as all of her teeth have been removed, causing her tongue to at times loll out of her mouth making her look very much like Sid the Sloth from the Ice Age movies.
We know that for some reason she is terrified of bathrooms and will not set paw in one.
I suspect if Bean — like all rescue dogs — could talk, she’d have some stories to tell.
But like so many rescue pets she has put her past behind her and seemingly bears no ill will to anyone.
In fact, walking her around the neighborhood, it was quite obvious Bean considers herself a friend to all and is convinced her presence is enough to brighten everyone’s day.
As Julie puts it, “Bean has never met a stranger.”
Not really a morning gal, it takes a bit to entice Bean out from under her warm covers at the start of the day, and soon after my arrival I was happy to accept the double duty of morning walkies and fetching coffee from a nearby bakery-cafe.
That first morning I quickly learned the difference between Corky walkies and Beanie walkies.
While I could simply open the door and let Corky dash outside to gambol about Rusty Metal Farm, exiting the house with Bean is a multistep process.
Chihuahuas are not built for the cold. It’s by no means winter yet in the north, but it was a bit on the chilly side during my time in Winnipeg.
So the first step was dressing Bean in as many layers as the temperatures dictated.
“Do you want me to do it?” Julie asked, as I grabbed the tiny down jacket and even tinier base layer.
I laughed and reminded her I routinely harness and hook up a team of amped-up huskies. “I think I can handle one small dog,” I said, a tad smugly.
Give me the sled dogs any day.
After several minutes of unsuccessfully attempting to slide the base layer over what had suddenly become a spider monkey, I was forced to surrender and meekly turn Bean and her winter ensemble over to Julie.
Once Julie had Bean dressed, on went a harness that would not even fit over my smallest sled dog’s nose.
Then the leash was snapped on, and I was handed the other end.
“Are you sure you can handle her and two cups of coffee?” Julie asked as Bean and I headed out.
“Pshaw,” I said. “If I can run a team of seven huskies, I think I can manage a Chihuahua and coffee.”
Strolling down the sidewalk it quickly became clear Bean was the neighborhood celebrity and I merely her posse.
Everyone we met — from the toddler on her way to a nearby day care to the folks at the bus stop going to work — knew Bean by name.
At Tall Grass Prairie Bread Co. — home of some of the city’s best coffee, cinnamon rolls and Bean’s favorite bannock — I had to make sure the people working there knew I was Bean’s official escort and had not, in fact, dognapped her.
And, yes, I, Bean and the coffee all made it back to Julie’s safe and sound, with only a bit of coffee spilled courtesy of a fat gray squirrel that crossed our path.
For a week I played, snuggled and became totally smitten with that pint-sized canine.
More importantly, I started to come out of my missing-Corky fog enough that my memories of her brought far more laughter than tears.
Yes, I miss my Shusky, and there will never, ever be another Corky.
But thanks to Lil Bean, there may soon be another four-legged resident here on Rusty Metal Farm.
I really hope it won’t need winter clothes to go outside.
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.
