Dear Mark
We have had several dogs over the years. Some we bought and some we rescued. We rescued Shadow a rottwieler because she was nine years old and nobody wanted to take a 140 pound nine year old dog. We couldn’t leave her, we took her home and she lived for two years. I still remember how she looked when she would wander out of the bedroom after her nap, ears back and body wiggling with a big smile on her face.

After she died we saved Roxy a rotty husky mix in January 05, she was on the last chance list in Anchorage and she was only nine months old. Then I bought Sober a rotty in February for my husband on valentines day. Then in July Chubba was born he was the cuttest little brown pomeranian, he was just under one pound. He fit in one hand. As he grew with his brothers and sisters he grew fatter and fatter. The women who owned them gave each puppy a name so she could refer to them. She named little Chubba Chub Chub. He only lived with us for five months before he died when he was seven months old. I would take his sisters Roxy, Sober, and Chubba cross country skiing. Usually at some point I woudl have to pick him up and put him in my jacket and finish our ski.

One beautiful sunny April day we skied on to a lake near a glacier. The three dogs were ahead of me and I looked up to see a beautiful large black wolf swoop in and grab my chubba and run off with him. I gave chase but I couldn’t move fast enough. The snow was frozen so I took of my skiis and I ran into the low scrubby trees looking for any prints to follow. I kept one of my poles so when I caught the wolf I could get my Chubba back. I was screaming as loud as I could “Chubba.” A man on a snow mobile came and looked around he pulled up to me and said, “your not going to find him.” He was right. I walked back to my skiis only to find out that one was broken and now I would have to walk nearly three miles back carrying my skiis and watching the other two dogs. I started out walking in a low area and up on my right behind a small bush stood the wolf. I screamed, “you ^&%@# where’s my dog. I advanced waving my poles at him we were eye to eye about twenty feet apart. He was panting just looking at me. It hit me, if I hit him he may kill me, I continued down the trail tears running down my face yelling, “Chubba” hoping I would see him one more time running down the snowy path. A few months later my mother-in-law gave me your book. I read it and had another good cry and finally began to let my Chubba go. Thank you Mark.

We now have a nother Pomeranian Daisy she’s beautiful.

Lori from AK