Kiowa and Cody. Cody and Kiowa.
Always a pair. Rarely was one name ever
mentioned without the other. Joined
by generation and activity. Hiking
buddies. Companions.
Kiowa was the first dog we ever owned.
A young, 10-week old Siberian Husky
puppy when we got him, Kiowa soon became a
rambunctious 7-month old who
needed a playmate. Enter Cody, the companion.
Cody was one year old when he arrived.
Cody was originally purchased by
someone else when he was a young Siberian
Husky puppy, intended to be a show
dog. He was shipped from Pennsylvania
to Colorado while still a pup. It
soon became evident that Cody was not going
to have a successful career as a
show dog. Instead, he was given to us
to keep and love and raise as a pet.
The first time we ever saw Cody, we went to
his owner's house in the country
near Kiowa, Colorado. As we drove into
the yard, we saw an outdoor kennel.
Staring at us through the chain-link fence
was an animal looking more
wolf-like than like a typical Siberian.
We both looked at him and then each
other, wondering "could this really be him?"
As beautiful as he looked, we
were hoping so.
The owner let Cody out of the kennel, and he
promptly ran around the yard
and into the kitchen to see us. As we
knelt near the kitchen floor, the
first thing he did was come over and start
leaning on us. That was Cody's
habit for life. Cody was never content
to lie around on the floor for long;
he had to be as close to us as possible, leaning
on us so we would rub and
pet him. In fact, if you moved away
quickly, Cody often lost his balance
and fell over.
Physically, Cody was not your typical Siberian.
This was what kept him out
of the show ring. Cody was a "woolly",
which meant he had a coat much
longer than desired. But his long gray
and white coat is also what made him
look so impressive. The fur around his
neck was especially long, and gave
him that wolf-like appearance. Cody
seemed to slink when he walked, holding
his head lower than normal. This movement
only increased the illusion of
the wolf.
Cody's movement would not have been acceptable
in the show ring. For
instance, when he walked his back nails scraped
the ground. On walks around
the neighborhood, we would hear the rhythmic
scraping of the nails on
concrete. But Cody had a beautiful head.
He had light brown eyes, alert
ears, and a snow-nose, which was black on
both sides with a pink bar running
vertically through the center.
During the early 1990's, Cody and Kiowa were
constant companions on the
hiking trail. Barr Trail, which leads
to the summit of Pikes Peak, was
their most frequent hike. They spent
many miles and hours running unleashed
up and down that trail. But Cody's greatest
day, and worst, on the trail
was hiking to Independence Pass in November
of 1990.
Cody was selected to be my companion on a two-night
camp-out in the Colorado
mountains. We took a 4-wheel drive vehicle
onto a snow-covered dirt road
just off the main road leading to Independence
Pass, and set up camp at a
suitable location. Cody was going to
sleep in the tent with me that first
night, but he wasn't comfortable being confined
to the tent. So before the
night was very old, I had tied him outside
to sleep in the snow. With no
wind, and the trees for shelter, he seemed
very comfortable and much
happier.
The next day, we started the hike to Independence
Pass. The road was closed
for the season about seven miles from the
summit, so we parked and started
hiking from the barricade. We had seven
miles of snow-covered road ahead,
all to ourselves. Cody spent all day
off leash, running ahead, exploring,
running back to check on me, and running ahead
again. He had a wonderful
time, and traveled many more miles than I.
By the time we reached the pass,
we were well above timberline, and it was
snowing hard and the wind was
blowing. After a short time at the summit
for photos and scenery, we headed
down.
After descending below timberline, the shelter
of the trees helped lessen
the wind. But Cody didn't notice, because
he was still having a blast. He
would range far ahead, leaving the road often,
exploring whatever he found
just over the embankment. Up ahead,
on a long, straight stretch of road, I
saw Cody come running back up onto the snowy
road, shaking his head. Even
at a distance, I could tell something was
wrong. He made his way back to
me, stopping often to shake his head and paw
at his face. Cody had met Mr.
Porcupine. Cody had a face full of quills,
some in his nose, some in his
muzzle, and some in his tongue. Every
time he would shake his head, drops
of blood would spray the white snow.
Cody's best day had become his worst.
We retreated down the mountain as fast as we
could, but we were still two
hours from the vehicle. As soon as we
reached it, we drove back to camp,
packed up, and drove two more hours to Colorado
Springs. We reached home
about 10:00 PM, and headed for the emergency
animal clinic. He was put
under general anesthesia and the quills were
removed. Cody recovered just
fine from that episode. That night was
Cody's first visit to the emergency
clinic. Last night was his last.
Cody was just over 11 1/2 years old on October
2nd, 1999, due to turn 12 in
February of 2000. He seemed fine early
in the day. While in the backyard
with the other dogs, he came up for his still-patented
leaning and petting.
But before I went back into the house, I noticed
that Cody was in his
doghouse, away from everyone else. He
still ate his supper that evening,
but he was noticeably uncomfortable.
We thought it might just be those old
bones of his, since he occasionally acted
stiff and sore at times, only to
recover by the next morning.
We brought him into the house during the evening,
but he just couldn't get
comfortable. He acted unsteady on the
stairs as he went back outside to be
confined in his kennel. Around midnight,
we heard commotion from the other
dogs, and found Cody violently sick.
We started the car and helped Cody
through the house. On the front porch,
he collapsed, so he was carried to
the car. For part of the ride to the
clinic, we heard him violently
retching and trying to breath. At other
times, it was eerily quiet.
After X-rays were taken, it was learned that
Cody had become bloated and his
stomach had twisted. He was in severe
distress, and after talking with the
veterinarian, learned his chances were slim
regardless of what action was
taken. We decided we had to say good-bye
to Cody.
Cody was a great companion to Kiowa and to
us for 10 1/2 years. The one
thing you always knew about Cody was that
he needed people. That was pretty
evident when, instead of selecting a comfortable
spot on the floor, he would
stand next to you, leaning, waiting for that
touch of your hand. We knew he
needed us. What we didn't know until
last night was how much we needed him.
----
Cody
Kontoki's Mountain Time
February 20, 1988 - October 3, 1999
written Oct. 3, 1999 by Michael Malmstrom
