Yuma (or Yumaevsky, as he was affectionately called) was a 10-month-old Malamute mix who was found abandoned in a Seattle park and was very nearly euthanized. He had clearly been stored in a cage and produced only for ceremonial occasions to shake, which was the only command he knew. When we adopted him, we discovered that he was out of control. He was destructive, disobedient, and appeared untrainable. His general attitude of defiance did have its amusing moments, though. One evening, my daughters came running down the stairs screaming, “Dad, he has a knife.” Much to my amazement, I discovered that he did indeed have a knife, and even more than that, he evidently knew how to use it. He was holding the handle in his mouth with the blade straight out, and he was charging at us. It took me about 10 minutes to disarm him.

Eventually, long after the trial adoption period had ended, we decided that the adoption simply was not working out, so I arranged to return Yuma to WAMAL. As we were packing his belongings, a strange interaction occurred between him and our other Malamute mix, Yiska. Yiska walked up to Yuma, stared at him for several long seconds, then walked away. Yuma was clearly shaken and even seemed apologetic. I cancelled the appointment with WAMAL and told him that we’d give him one last chance, but he needed to change his behavior. And amazingly, from that point onward, we saw a dramatic improvement. From being out of control, he gradually became a well-behaved friend and companion.

Yuma was always very stoic even for a Malamute (except for feeding time, when he ran around the perimeter of the yard squealing, and when he was trying to climb the walls to better smell the cooking odors wafting throughout the kitchen and breakfast nook). When he was six, however, he became critically ill with peritonitis and needed emergency surgery. In the hospital, his recovery was threatened by his refusal to eat. My younger daughter suggested we bring him food from home (Eukanuba mixed with broth and Parmesan cheese and topped with sprinkles of shredded cheddar). We did, and he gobbled it down. It was a revelation for me: it was the first time that I realized how much Yuma appreciated the food prepared for him, how much he valued his home, how much he loved each of us, and how much he loved his life.

As Saya, our Corgi mix, aged, and as we adopted two elderly dogs, Xena and Kenai, it became clear that Yuma was a caregiver. As Saya struggled with memory loss and disorientation, Yuma tried to guide her and watch over her. When he realized Xena was deaf, he led her to the window so that she could see me getting out of the car. (By himself, Yuma never came to greet me.) When Kenai was very ill, he watched over him and comforted him.  

One Tuesday in May 2023, Yuma lost the use of his hind legs.  Miraculously, early the following morning, he was able to walk again, although falteringly. Over the next six months, as good days alternated with bad days, Yuma’s mobility and general health gradually declined. But despite his physical decline and despite enormous pain, Yuma tenaciously clung to life. In fact, we marveled at how much he loved living despite his diminished state.

On November 3, 2023, it was clear that his end had come, and Yuma passed away peacefully at home surrounded by his family and his veterinarian with his wife. After his death, we realized that Yuma had fought so hard to live not for himself, but because, as the caregiver he was, he was concerned about us and about how our lives would go on without him. Not only was Yuma a protector, but he also structured my life. Regularity was important to him; perfection was achieved when every day was the same as every other day. He controlled waking time, breakfast time, the time for his long walk (always promptly at 11:30, when he was healthy enough to go for a long walk), dinner time, and pill time. He imposed a structure and a regularity on our lives that filled our lives with joy – and he knew it. It was his gift to us.

St. Irenaeus, the great second century bishop and theologian, wrote that in the new heaven and the new earth at the end of time, not only us, but also our animals, will be given resurrected bodies. I know that, in his stoic way, Yuma will be eagerly awaiting me so that we can once again go on our long walk together.