I built my first web page for her, starting me down a path that would lead to me doing it full-time for money. I became interested in day-hiking with her, from which I found other fun things to do outside in the company of dogs. She taught me to not take myself too seriously, that the true priorities in life lie outside of school and work.

When she died, suddenly, at the too-young age of nine, I was devastated. I had never known the death of a soul so close to me. She was my friend, my playmate, my little piece of winter in the seemingly endless summers of the south. I still miss her.

Laika died yesterday. I had just come home from work, and she greeted me at the front door as she always did, nosing open the door to say hello. I bent to give her a mini-hug and a pet as I also always did. This was all part of the routine she and I had developed over the years living here. When I walked into the bedroom, she ran to the foot of the bed and half-jumped on. I leaned over to nuzzle her face and she gave me a kiss in the ear as she always did, all the while making these small arrooos and little barks in her throat. After her kiss, I stood up and she ran off into the apartment to get her glowie while I sat at the end of the bed to take off my shoes. She tumbled back in, glowie in mouth. I threw it once into the hallway and she ran off to get it and bring it back to me, barking all the while her small happy barks. Again I threw it into the hallway and she bounded back.

As I threw her glowie a third time, she turned to chase it but collapsed to the floor right next to a milk crate under Elyse's keyboard [Elyse was my girlfriend at the time - Ricq] and didn't move. From where I was sitting, it looked like one of her rear paws was caught in the crate, so I jumped up to free her. She let out a yip of pain (surprise? shock?) when I pulled her to a clear spot on the floor, but she wasn't moving. At first I thought she was in shock from hurting a paw or leg, but she was completely still on the floor. I yelled to Elyse to get ready to rush us to the vet, but then I noticed that Laika had stopped breathing and her entire body was trembling slightly. By now Elyse was on the phone with a receptionist at the vet's office, and was trying to get instructions on how to resuscitate a collapsed dog. I tried blowing into Laika's mouth, but she was completely limp and her tongue had already turned blue and her bladder had let go on the floor. I found nothing in her throat to indicate that she was choking. I knew then that she was gone, that there was nothing to be done for her but send her home gently. I held her on the floor, kissing her neck, petting her head as she faded away. I hope the last thing she could feel was my touch and the sound of my voice. Elyse and I held her for a long time on the floor, crying and petting her. I buried my nose in her fur, trying to force myself to remember her scent. I kept calling her "silly bear", because this was not how I envisioned her leaving me. Her death was so sudden -- she was doing what she loved best (playing fetch with one of her squeak toys) and then five minutes later she was gone.

After awhile, we realized that we would need to bury her. I found a spot in a corner of the back yard and cleared the ivy and twigs away. Elyse stood by me the whole time. As I started to dig a hole in the twilight, the church bells from the chapel at Greensboro College struck six o'clock. I dug through all the roots, down into the sandy soil. When I was deep enough, we found an old sheet and wrapped Laika's body in it. I carried her from the bedroom and laid her down. Elyse found her glowie in the apartment hallway where Laika never did reach it the third time, and I found her celery squeak by her food bowl. I pulled the sheet back from her head, and placed both of these favorite toys under her chin against her chest, just as she did when she would fall asleep on the bedroom floor. I asked Elyse to get a bone from the top of the refrigerator, and I placed that with her toys as well. Laika looked just as if she was sleeping with all of her favorite things, tucked inside the folds of the sheet. I petted her face for a while, and rubbed where she liked on the bridge of her nose, and told her she was always a good dog and that I loved her always. I then covered her face back up with the sheet, and knelt there with my hands on her body, trying to say goodbye.

Some time later, I gently shoveled some earth over her, then finished up her grave. Elyse and I tamped the earth down. We found an old slice of tree trunk, and rolled that over Laika as a marker. We held each other crying over Laika's body, as the evening ended and the bells struck seven times.

I don't remember much more of that evening except alternating between staring at the walls and floor and sobbing with grief. I wandered from room to room, picking up all of the tufts of Laika's fur I could find, and placed them in a ball on my nightstand. I found a picture Elyse had of me from several years ago with me standing in the kitchen and Laika just in the hallway sitting and grinning up at me. All these years I knew Laika was a large part of my life, and I remembered from that picture how much I meant to her. She was always a happy dog, and her joy and boundless energy became part of me during our time together. She always made me smile, and she always welcomed me home as if I had been away for years instead of only hours. I downloaded some pictures of her from her website and put them on the bedroom computer as background wallpaper.

Before I went to bed, I went outside to where she lay and placed my hands on her marker. I whispered to her all the things I always tried to tell her -- that I loved her, and that she was a good dog and a silly bear. I stood in the cold on the back step for a while, watching the North Star, already feeling the unending loss from her death.

This morning Elyse had the idea of writing something on her tree marker. Perhaps her name, or a picture of her constellation. We will do this, as well as plant some flowers for her in the corner. We always dreamed of moving north to Minnesota, and relishing all the snow we don't have here in North Carolina. Now Laika will remain in the state in which she was born. Today it was supposed to rain, but we have sleet instead and the forecast calls for snow. We take comfort in the symbols we can. Elyse has taken her death hard as well, perhaps only now realizing how much she loved Laika, and how she will be missed in ways we cannot even yet count, how one small animal could bring such joy to our lives.

We will miss her.

We gave her so many nicknames: Laika Bear, Miss Bear, Pookie, Muffin Head, Silly Bear, Pooh Bear, Super-Pook, Wedgehead, Snow Dog.

When she returned home from the vets after being spayed, she gathered all of her toys and curled around them for comfort. The vet joked that perhaps she was just sulking, but I knew she was just trying to deal with the pain in her own way.

She was always so happy to see me whenever I came home. Always waiting at the front door, tail wagging, eyes bright, smiling her Sammy smile.

When I went to pick out Laika from her litter, there were two puppies who had not already been adopted, one boy and one girl. I watched all the puppies play together for a while, then picked up the girl puppy. She was just waking up from a nap as I held her in my arms, this small white ball of fluff, and she raised her head to look at my face. Her brown eyes were only half-open, and she lifted her nose to me sniffing, as she slowly woke out of whatever puppy dreams she had been dreaming. I knew then that this was the dog for me. I've never regretted that choice.

I named her not only after the first dog in space (the Russian Laika), but also after the constellation Ursa Minor, so that her American Kennel Club name was "Laika Ursa Minoris" or "like a little bear." At the time I was just trying to be clever, but perhaps I knew even then how much my life would come to revolve around her over the years, as all the stars in the heavens turn around the North Star held in the tail of the little bear.

Of course we baby-talked to her -- she was that kind of dog (or we were that kind of humans).

• "Silly bear."
• "You'ze so fluffy."
• "She hass no earrsss."
• "Itchy brain."
• "Cabbages, cabbages."
• "'Tocky bear. She's full of 'tock." (while patting her stocky sides or tummy)
• "Fluffy bum."
• "Dancey-prancey bear." (when she would sit, waiting for a toy or treat, yet simultaneously be lifting all paws off the ground in eagerness)
• "Maggot." (when she would crawl towards you while still keeping her belly to the floor)
• "Soggy dog."
• "Laika dog, Laika dog, she's a big fat fluffy attention hog."
• "Give me a kiss." (guaranteed to get you a sloppy French kiss in the ear)
• "Pooookiiiieeeee!"
• "She's cleeeaaaaan! She's a clean bear!" (right after a bath)
• "I'm too sexy for my leash..."
• "Roo bear."
• "Squirmy bear."
• "She's such a good girl."
• "She iss my little bear." (when greeting her at the foot of the bed)
• "It's a doooggggggg!" (when she would suddenly burst into the room we were in)

When Elyse and I drove up to Ohio for my sister's wedding, Laika slept in the back seat the entire trip, curled between the cooler and our luggage.

Driving for twelve hours up to Ohio for Christmas at my parents, I brought her with me. She slept curled in the front seat the whole way. We went to a Burger King for dinner and I got her a hamburger and we both ate sitting in the car in the parking lot. To pass the hours on the road, I came up with a song for her:

Our long weekend walks in Greensboro, from the apartment through Greensboro College, through UNCG's golf course, then back home along the railroad tracks where the orange cosmos flowers grew. We would play fetch on the golf course if no one was around. Such a companionable way to spend time alone with myself. Sometimes Elyse would come with us and we would walk the railroad tracks on weekend afternoons.

How she would bark in her dreams these hopelessly cute little "wroof" sounds, legs twitching all the while.

How she would wake me in the morning by coming to my side of the bed and lifting her head, shoulders, and front paws onto the mattress, nuzzling me until I got up. If I was reluctant to get up right away, she would sometimes launch her entire body onto the bed so that I had no choice but to get up.

How, although, I never caught her directly, she would sleep on the bed when no one was home. The only way I found out was by finding pieces of white fur on my pillow.

She loved car rides, and would sit in the passenger's seat, pushing her nose out the cracked window, or into the vent grill if the window was closed. As she got older, she would sleep more often than not, only waking when the car slowed at an intersection or when we pulled into our destination.

If we were walking alongside the train tracks when a train came by, we would sit by the side of the road and wait for it to pass. Laika would press her body up against mine, trembling, and watch the cars clank past.

Her favorite toy was her green squeak, shaped like a bunch of celery. She loved her squeak so much when I first gave it to her when she was a puppy that I immediately went out and bought three more, in case she lost or chewed through them over the years.

How if her butt was itching, she would sit with her rear up to the wall, the bed, or my amplifier and give these little jumps, scratching her behind.

Since she so often sat so closely behind the desk chair, her tail was always getting caught under the wheels if we shifted the chair even the slightest bit. She would let out this incredible yelp and we'd look down to see a white plume of fur on the carpet. But she always came back.

Like the rumble of trains, she was also afraid of thunder, and would usually hide in the shower (in the only room with no windows). Once she was so scared that she didn't want to leave us so she squeezed behind the couch, a 6" gap.

She would get this far away look in her eyes, mouth pointed upwards, if you ever scratched underneath her collar. Her rear leg would thump the floor.

If she was bored, she would play with one of her toys. But if she caught sight of her own tail, she would sometimes start chasing it (and occasionally catching it). We used to call her "benzene dog."

I could be sitting reading, at the computer, or watching TV and she would just come running into the room with her squeak and plop it into your lap, saying "It's time to play now".

One of her favorite games was for us to tie her squeak in the middle of a towel or plastic bag so that she couldn't see it but only hear it. She would paw, tug, and gnaw at the towel or bag until she got her squeak out.

In spite of her arctic heritage, she would sleep in front of the space heater on cold nights, all of her paws in the air with her tummy exposed.

Sometimes if we told her to "go lay down" (which she usually obeyed), she would move off one foot, turn around and stare right back at you, certain that you didn't really mean it.

Her feet would slide and she would effectively be running in place if we threw her squeak while she was in the kitchen--she was that eager to go after it and her paws slid on the linoleum for a few seconds before she could start moving forward.

After a bath, she looked just like a white, soggy doe. I made her shake five times before rubbing her dry with a towel.

She would walk right up to you, sit down, and burp at you.

Sometimes she would like on her back, tail wagging and all four paws in the air, just grinning at you, begging for a tummy rub.

After we finished eating a meal and stood up, she would quickly scan the floor for any crumbs that might have fallen to the floor.

She was convinced the vacuum cleaner, when moving across the floor toward her, was intent on devouring her and bark and snap at it. However, if I attached a hose to the vacuum, she would enjoy me vacuuming her body.

If we were sitting in the bathroom, she would wedge her head through the door to come in and visit us.

She was a patient beggar, sitting quietly near the table as we ate. Her eyes never left our hands. She would decide each day who was a better bet between Elyse and myself for getting a table treat. One day she would focus her attention on me, the next Elyse.

When I took her outside in the back yard for her to go to the bathroom, she would almost always come when called, unless she was smelling something extremely interesting. She learned, though, that she could ignore Elyse's calls a little more than mine and would run teasingly off a few steps if Elyse walked after her to bring her back inside.

I'll miss how she would occasionally curl up on the bed next to me, and we would both fall asleep nestled next to each other.

I'll miss the hikes we took around the lakes north of Greensboro on Saturday mornings. Due to time constraints from work and school, we didn't do this as often as I wished to. I remember the last hike we took late in the summer of '98 where we saw the doe off in the distance, and how we rested under the trees at the shore of the lake on our way back. How good it felt to listen to the waves and feel the wind blow off the water over us. How Laika was curiously busy with a small sugar bee that wouldn't leave her nose alone.

Elyse would send faxes to me from work of cartoons she drew of what Laika must be doing at that moment at home: looking at the clock and asking "Where's my squeak? Where's my squeak?"

How she would be so intent on getting food or attention from us in the bedroom that she didn't realize her rear end was stuck into the electric space heater in the middle of the floor. She still didn't notice until we saw smoke coming off of her butt as she sat there and we pulled her away. She would carry the singe marks in her fur, like those from a barbecue grill, until the fur grew out or I clipped it away.

Elyse wrote a small song for her on guitar:

One year around mid-December, Elyse and I went to the grocery store. We had holiday candy (chocolate bells wrapped in foil) in a bag on a desk in the front room. Laika was very good about never getting up on the furniture in that room, so we didn't think twice about leaving the bells out in the open. Evidently the cats weren't as well-behaved as Laika, though. When we came home from the store, we found shreds of colored tinfoil all over the floor and Laika grinning at us. Evidently the cats had knocked the bag of chocolates onto the floor (our cats are always raising hell) and Laika, in typical Laika logic, thought that since the chocolate was on the floor, it was hers. She proceeded to eat every single bell in this nearly full bag (approximately one pound). She had extricated some of the bells from their tinfoil wrappers so carefully that some of the wrappers still held their bell-like shape (minus any chocolate inside, naturally). Since large amounts of chocolate can be life-threatening to a dog, I immediately called our veterinarian, who instructed me to make Laika vomit up the chocolate by giving her some hydrogen peroxide. Now I don't normally keep hydrogen peroxide around, so I jumped in my car and hurried to the nearest drugstore (about one mile away). When I got back home with the peroxide, Laika was still acting like nothing was wrong. I took her into the bedroom and gave her one tablespoonful of peroxide as the vet had instructed. The bubbles made her sneeze, but she didn't throw up. After five minutes went by, I gave her another tablespoonful. She sneezed again, but still didn't throw up. I waited fifteen more minutes, becoming more and more worried because the longer chocolate is in a dog's system, the more hazardous it can become. Finally, I forced two whole tablespoonfuls into Laika (she was not too pleased with this procedure by this point).

By now it was apparent that Laika was in some distress: she would walk around the bedroom, lie down, then immediately get back up, get a drink of water, walk around some more, then try to lie down again, drink more water, etc. I could also hear her stomach rumbling as the peroxide bubbles sloshed around inside her. Occasionally Laika would also let out these horrendous-sounding burps. She would start to make these "urga-urga" sounds that any dog lover knows precede your dog throwing up, but yet she never did.

A half hour had now gone by and still Laika had a pound of potentially fatal chocolate in her stomach. Nearing panic, I called my veterinarian again and he told me to bring Laika into his office because they had something they could give her that guaranteed she would vomit the chocolate up.

I hustled Laika out into the car and pulled away. (You can probably see how this story is going to end.) All the while her stomach is rumbling, but yet Laika is just grinning at me, excited that she was going for a car ride. Well, you guessed it, we got about three blocks from home when Laika suddenly put her head down between my car's front bucket seats and let loose with this steaming flood of bubbly, chocolate syrup that proceeded to flow beneath each seat, under my feet, and everywhere in the front half of the car. Being Laika, what did she do next but look up at me and grin, still excited at her car ride!

I thought I should take her on in to the vet just to be sure she was OK. When I got there ten minutes later, I explained to the receptionist what had happened. She, in all seriousness and evidently not comprehending the gravity of the situation inside my car, offered me one paper towel to clean up the liquid mess. I gave her a sick smile and respectfully declined, asking if she had a workshop wet/dry vacuum I could borrow. It was then that she realized what had truly transpired inside my car. My vet was busy with another patient, but gave me a message that if I was certain Laika had gotten rid of all the chocolate then there was no reason for him to see her and that I should just take her on home. Thinking about what lay sloshing around on the floor of my car, I said that I was most definitely sure there was none left in my dog's stomach.

When we got back home, I spent a good hour trying to clean up my car, but I still couldn't reach all the places Laika's "present" had flowed to. It smelled so interesting in there until sometime late the next summer, after the heat had finally burned the smell away.

She had so many toys, and knew the names of them all. If you told her to "Go get your squeak", she would run off into the apartment to find her green celery squeak and bring it back to you, nuzzling it into your lap until you threw it for her to chase and bring back again. Besides her squeak, she had a ball, a hedgie, a sun, a glowie, a bone, a candy cane, and a kitty. She was smart enough to find whichever toy you asked her to.

I drove out to the beach with her for a few hours one day. It was an early autumn day, and the weather was cool. There was no one else around, so I let her run free on the beach. Laika was afraid of the waves breaking on the sand, so she shied away from them until a seagull came flying up the length of the beach toward us, about only 6 feet above the sand. Laika immediately took off after it away from me, ignoring my calls. She may not have even heard me, as the wind was blowing my voice back to me away from her. About one hundred yards from, the gull seemed to realize that this dog nipping at her might actually catch her, so it turned ninety degrees and flew directly out over the ocean. Laika was so intent on the bird that she followed its turn without hesitation and didn't even pause before charging into the surf. She was easily ten feet out with waves breaking over her before she seemed to realize where she was. Fortunately, she made it back on shore without difficulty.

I'll miss her white eyebrows that looked so cute over her liquid brown eyes. I'll miss the expression on her face when you offered her a bit of table food and her eyes would almost cross as they focused just at the tip of her nose as she sniffed what you were giving her.

Things she loved to eat: potato chips (her favorite) -- "Chippy Bear!", raw spaghetti noodles (she would take the entire uncooked noodle in her mouth and trot off to the hallway to hold it upright between her paws and slowly eat it), tootsie rolls from the litter box, anything salty from the bathroom trashcan (Q-tips, kleenex), any people food she could find in the kitchen trashcan (especially any remnant of chocolate), the catnip mice we gave to the cats (which she would inevitably throw up a day later).

I'll miss having to step over her in the hallway as she lay sprawled, asleep or awake, right in the center of passage. I'll miss how she slept on either my or Elyse's side of the bed, or even under the bedroom computer desk, depending upon her mood. How she knew the command "Look out", but didn't always obey once she was down for the night. How she sometimes let out these huge sighs when lying down which I interpreted as "Oh well, if they're not going to play with me I might as well get some sleep."

I'll miss how she followed me (or Elyse if I wasn't home) from room to room in the apartment. How once I settled into a task (e.g., working on the bedroom computer), she would curl up at my feet underneath the desk. If I took her to work on the weekends, she would curl up near me as well, her eyes always on me. Or when I would sit at the kitchen table, how she would lie down on the floor under my legs.

I'll miss how she would sometimes only eat her dog food if I was in the kitchen with her. How she would bring kibbles into the bedroom or hallway to be near me to eat if I wasn't in the kitchen.

Her web site would draw visitors of all ages from all over the world, from Australia to Sweden to Brazil. Many sent e-mail to her. Even from her virtual home, she made friends easily.

She was my first dog, and forgiving of my mistakes raising her. Despite my attempts, she never cared for other dogs, but made friends with human strangers instantly.

How all Elyse or I had to do was jingle the car keys, or turn a door knob, and she would come running to the sound because she knew it meant we were going somewhere. She could recognize the sound of me taking her leash from the top of the refrigerator also, and knew it meant it was time for a walk.

If neither of her humans were in a playing mood, she would be content to bash her squeak with her muzzle to hear the sound, then toss it with her mouth and paw at it, all the while making these small barks and play-growls in the back of her throat.

Most of all I'll miss her presence in my life from minute to minute. So much of our lives were tied to each other. And I know this list is long, and yet I feel as if I still have barely begun to say how much she meant to me. I feel as if one-third of my life, of me, is missing. Her absence now is so more keenly made obvious by the silences she has left behind. We will miss her always.