Like I said, my pedigree was announced in a kennel club newspaper. Specifically, the Hampton Roads Siberian Husky Association’s members newsletter. The announcement was as followed:
"CONGRATULATIONS!!!
CONGRATULATIONS are in order for Jane and Mark, for the arrival of their latest addition.
Jane writes:
'Elizabeth is a lovely, blue-eyes little charmer, with excellent conformation and movement and a perfect disposition- defiantly a BIS.'"
This was followed by my name, date of birth, weight and coloring as well as the traditional pedigree going back to the parents of my sire and dam.
My parent’s membership into that club was inspired by their two huskies. These two dogs define my early childhood and are present in some of my earliest memories. Both were purebred, both obedience trained and both shown.
Bandit, or more formally, Sand Shadow Bandit, was black with white markings and had the beautiful blue eyes that huskies are almost always defined by. Unfortunately, when it came to the possibility of conformation showing, an atypically heavy coat overshadowed her eyes and stunning coloration. Which was why it was just as well that my mother stuck to the obedience ring with her.
Bandit’s personality was also atypical for a Husky. She had a tendency to be reserved and snappish if provoked. Yet, she still had the independence and the ability for trouble that the breed is so well known for. Bandit’s escapades are on par with other horror stories I have heard, and told with the same aggravated humor that all owners of huskies have.
Bandit was followed by my mothers attempt at having a dog capable of conformation showing. Unfortunately, while his personality would have sparkled in the ring, his conformation was not as flashy. Raisin was, in a way so appropriately named. He was not named after the dried snack, but rather an old country saying and country song. Formally, he was known as Rising Sun of Kiska, ‘Kiska’ being the name of a rather famous husky that was present in Raisin’s pedigree. However, my father thought to name him ‘don’t get above your raise’ins’.
He was what he was raised to be, a pet quality animal produced by an incompetent breeder. Not that my mother didn’t try him in the show ring, but he succeeded in Obedience, not conformation. It really was a bit of a shocker that he succeeded in anything, which is not to say that he was stupid or boring, but rather, that he is all those crazy things that is a Siberian Husky. Too smart for his own good, stubborn, easily bored and perfectly capable of making up his own games to amuse his active and alert nature, Raisin was, in no uncertain terms, a charming brat. For that we loved him.
He and Bandit are my early childhood. They combined to form a super Husky team, taking on the roles of nannies, playmates and disciplinarians.
Disciplinarian actually describes Bandit more then Raisin. I still carry the scars on my face from where she had enough of the pesky toddler that followed her under the porch. Mumma said “leave bandit alone when she goes under the porch!” but I, like the huskies themselves, always had a hard time with following the rules. Bandit re-enforced that rule with an iron clad example of what consequences follow the growl of warning. With one fang, she neatly bisected my right eyebrow, the other sliced neatly, a smidge above my cheekbone. My mother was treated to the horrid sight of my screaming at the storm door, blood covering my face and running down the glass. Despite my age and my poor recall of much of my childhood, I do remember the way the blood smeared on the glass. I was rushed to the Martha Jefferson ER and treated to stitches and a latex glove turned into a balloon chicken.
Because I cannot recall that without finishing the story, although the rest has nothing to do with dogs, a day or so after the removal of those stitches, my mother took her car to the neighbor’s farm to have the oil changed. I was running willy-nilly around the front yard at full pelt. My mother repeatedly cautioned me to slow down (I think the warnings started as mild and escalated to frustrated orders to cease and desist, actually) but as normal, I continued with my heathenish ways. The yard was full of tree stumps and it wasn’t long before I found out the reason for my mothers demands. I tripped and smacked my head against a hubcap of one of the neighbor’s cars. Once again my mother made the, no doubt, harrowing drive to Martha Jefferson Hospital with a screaming child in the backseat. I got more stitches and another balloon.
From that day forth, all my mother had to say was “Liz! Do we need another trip to Martha Jefferson?” in that stern frustrated tone that all mother’s can summon at will. I did not return to that ER until I was 16, largely because of that simple sentence.
Bandit and I were not always at odds, and I do remember an occasional cuddle, but Raisin and I had a special attachment. The magnificent red husky whose blue eyes held the twinkle of a born trickster captivated me. My mother remembers, and told me often of the time I gave him what would always be referred to as ‘Raisins pig’ and the only toy the dog had any interest in. It was a small cloth toy, of the type given to infants, shaped like a pig. The only dog fight he ever instigated was over that toy.
My first word was ‘roo’. Specifically, it was Raisin, but it meant ‘dog’. As a small child I would point at a dog and say (rather emphatically) ‘ROO!’. It was one of his nicknames, derived from the noise that he made. We will never know why, although it has been theorized that he was de-barked before being shipped to my mother. Or he could have just never figured out how to bark. Yet he did (often at the top of his lungs) make the haunting howls and songs of the Husky. The most infamous of these noises was his ‘roo’. He had many variations of this noise, some joyful, some sweet (and for a bath they were closer to screams!) but always Raisin, heart and soul. The most special of these was the ‘silent roo’; a breath of air whispered from his muzzle.
Raisin and Bandit are the beginning of my love for the four legged friends I hold so dear. Without them, I think my life would have gone down a drastically different road. Nothing sparks the imagination in a lonely and solitary child like having her own personal wolves. Those magnificent artic dogs will always hold a place in my heart as more then just the beautiful blue eyed jesters that run along the snowy plains, but as the best memories of being small and full of wonder.
"CONGRATULATIONS!!!
CONGRATULATIONS are in order for Jane and Mark, for the arrival of their latest addition.
Jane writes:
'Elizabeth is a lovely, blue-eyes little charmer, with excellent conformation and movement and a perfect disposition- defiantly a BIS.'"
This was followed by my name, date of birth, weight and coloring as well as the traditional pedigree going back to the parents of my sire and dam.
My parent’s membership into that club was inspired by their two huskies. These two dogs define my early childhood and are present in some of my earliest memories. Both were purebred, both obedience trained and both shown.
Bandit, or more formally, Sand Shadow Bandit, was black with white markings and had the beautiful blue eyes that huskies are almost always defined by. Unfortunately, when it came to the possibility of conformation showing, an atypically heavy coat overshadowed her eyes and stunning coloration. Which was why it was just as well that my mother stuck to the obedience ring with her.
Bandit’s personality was also atypical for a Husky. She had a tendency to be reserved and snappish if provoked. Yet, she still had the independence and the ability for trouble that the breed is so well known for. Bandit’s escapades are on par with other horror stories I have heard, and told with the same aggravated humor that all owners of huskies have.
Bandit was followed by my mothers attempt at having a dog capable of conformation showing. Unfortunately, while his personality would have sparkled in the ring, his conformation was not as flashy. Raisin was, in a way so appropriately named. He was not named after the dried snack, but rather an old country saying and country song. Formally, he was known as Rising Sun of Kiska, ‘Kiska’ being the name of a rather famous husky that was present in Raisin’s pedigree. However, my father thought to name him ‘don’t get above your raise’ins’.
He was what he was raised to be, a pet quality animal produced by an incompetent breeder. Not that my mother didn’t try him in the show ring, but he succeeded in Obedience, not conformation. It really was a bit of a shocker that he succeeded in anything, which is not to say that he was stupid or boring, but rather, that he is all those crazy things that is a Siberian Husky. Too smart for his own good, stubborn, easily bored and perfectly capable of making up his own games to amuse his active and alert nature, Raisin was, in no uncertain terms, a charming brat. For that we loved him.
He and Bandit are my early childhood. They combined to form a super Husky team, taking on the roles of nannies, playmates and disciplinarians.
Disciplinarian actually describes Bandit more then Raisin. I still carry the scars on my face from where she had enough of the pesky toddler that followed her under the porch. Mumma said “leave bandit alone when she goes under the porch!” but I, like the huskies themselves, always had a hard time with following the rules. Bandit re-enforced that rule with an iron clad example of what consequences follow the growl of warning. With one fang, she neatly bisected my right eyebrow, the other sliced neatly, a smidge above my cheekbone. My mother was treated to the horrid sight of my screaming at the storm door, blood covering my face and running down the glass. Despite my age and my poor recall of much of my childhood, I do remember the way the blood smeared on the glass. I was rushed to the Martha Jefferson ER and treated to stitches and a latex glove turned into a balloon chicken.
Because I cannot recall that without finishing the story, although the rest has nothing to do with dogs, a day or so after the removal of those stitches, my mother took her car to the neighbor’s farm to have the oil changed. I was running willy-nilly around the front yard at full pelt. My mother repeatedly cautioned me to slow down (I think the warnings started as mild and escalated to frustrated orders to cease and desist, actually) but as normal, I continued with my heathenish ways. The yard was full of tree stumps and it wasn’t long before I found out the reason for my mothers demands. I tripped and smacked my head against a hubcap of one of the neighbor’s cars. Once again my mother made the, no doubt, harrowing drive to Martha Jefferson Hospital with a screaming child in the backseat. I got more stitches and another balloon.
From that day forth, all my mother had to say was “Liz! Do we need another trip to Martha Jefferson?” in that stern frustrated tone that all mother’s can summon at will. I did not return to that ER until I was 16, largely because of that simple sentence.
Bandit and I were not always at odds, and I do remember an occasional cuddle, but Raisin and I had a special attachment. The magnificent red husky whose blue eyes held the twinkle of a born trickster captivated me. My mother remembers, and told me often of the time I gave him what would always be referred to as ‘Raisins pig’ and the only toy the dog had any interest in. It was a small cloth toy, of the type given to infants, shaped like a pig. The only dog fight he ever instigated was over that toy.
My first word was ‘roo’. Specifically, it was Raisin, but it meant ‘dog’. As a small child I would point at a dog and say (rather emphatically) ‘ROO!’. It was one of his nicknames, derived from the noise that he made. We will never know why, although it has been theorized that he was de-barked before being shipped to my mother. Or he could have just never figured out how to bark. Yet he did (often at the top of his lungs) make the haunting howls and songs of the Husky. The most infamous of these noises was his ‘roo’. He had many variations of this noise, some joyful, some sweet (and for a bath they were closer to screams!) but always Raisin, heart and soul. The most special of these was the ‘silent roo’; a breath of air whispered from his muzzle.
Raisin and Bandit are the beginning of my love for the four legged friends I hold so dear. Without them, I think my life would have gone down a drastically different road. Nothing sparks the imagination in a lonely and solitary child like having her own personal wolves. Those magnificent artic dogs will always hold a place in my heart as more then just the beautiful blue eyed jesters that run along the snowy plains, but as the best memories of being small and full of wonder.
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