By fall of my senior year, Pixie was showing her age. We’d never properly taken care of her teeth, and I could tell her mouth was giving her some pain. At some point that fall, she stopped eating and drinking. She weakened to the point where walking seemed difficult, so off to the vet we went.

I don’t remember what they said was wrong with her, but I think she was prescribed a steroid to go along with some human food to entice her appetite. Fortunately she did take interest in the rice (?) that we added to her typical fare, and she resumed eating just dog food within probably a week’s time. She’d lost enough weight to startle us, but she rebounded back to about where she’d been.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Pixie’s age and health over the years. By this time I knew she’d be leaving us eventually, but I was nowhere near ready for that to happen. Pixie had mellowed to the point where most anyone could get some snuggling, and Squirrel Patrol had become just barking at squirrels from the front porch.

The Belgian exchange student we hosted my senior year was used to having Pixie around, and my fellow sheltie owner/friend Antigone had been able to see Pixie throughout our high school years. My friend Beth had been coming over to hang out since elementary school and therefore knew of Pixie’s importance. Anyone who actually knew our family understood that Pixie was a family member.

We made it through that scare in fall, but then the same lack of appetite hit again months later in March of 2007. This time, it wasn’t going away. Instead my family was going away. Yes, my parents and my dad’s sister + husband had hit milestone birthdays in February, so they’d decided we’d meet up in South Bend, Indiana, for a weekend away when it was convenient in March. With Pixie losing weight and showing no interest in dog food or water, I had infinitely negative interest in leaving her.

Yet leave we did, placing Pixie in the care of my nearby aunt, uncle, and cousins. I can’t say for sure, but I bet I was crying as we headed for Indiana; Pixie just seemed so weak that I knew leaving for the weekend was a horrible mistake.

I was right.

In the interest of protecting me and trying to not worry me, my parents didn’t pass on the word coming through phone calls from my uncle. Not only was Pixie not eating, but a paw had also accidentally been stepped on. (note: I don’t blame my relatives for Pixie’s problems at all, even if  it may sound like it) She only limped weakly and just showed no interest in much of anything. While my parents were the ones getting the reports, I knew exactly what was happening. My puppy was dying. When we were bowling – something which is already stressful for me – I broke down and just left to cry in the bathroom. What a great weekend away to celebrate birthdays, eh!

When we got home to Pixie that Sunday afternoon, one look at her essentially told us it was time to say goodbye. One gum was swollen and sometimes bleeding, she wasn’t eating, she could barely walk, and she’d lost even more hearing over the last couple years. My parents made an appointment to have the vet check her out on Monday, but I think they did that just to confirm what we all thought.

I spent the next ~36 hours caring only about my puppy. It seems like we spent Sunday evening just taking turns sitting on the couch with Pixie on our laps. At night I set up a cot and slept by Pixie’s side as I prayed she’d just die in her sleep. When I got home from school on Monday, my parents told me the vet agreed it was time to let her go. Tuesday would be my last day with my sister.

Being emotionally unstable that night, I had no thoughts for anything other than Pixie. Oddly enough, that’s when my future started rolling out in front of me. When the phone rang, my mom answered and let the person on the other end of the line know that it was a rough time for me. She passed the phone to me, and I met Charlie Armstrong of Admissions at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.

“Sorry to hear about your dog. I was just calling to see if you had any questions I could answer about UAF,” Charlie said.

We chatted for a little while before he asked if there was anything that would help me make up my mind on a college decision. Being a good daughter, I responded with, “Oh, well financial aid is a big part of it.” He said he’d look into it and planned on talking to me again soon. One thing was for sure: that wasn’t exactly a phone call I’d expected on such a despondent Monday evening.

Wouldn’t it be just my luck that Tuesday was a half day of school? I endured a half day of school and then watched Aljosja (Belgian) and Antigone say goodbye to Pixie. From that point on, I really couldn’t hold it together. Saying goodbye when you don’t know when a friend or family member will die is one thing; saying goodbye because that special someone will be gone in a few hours is something else.

That afternoon my mom and I carried Pixie throughout the house so she could see all the rooms in which she’d never been allowed. Obviously she didn’t really care, but it was therapeutic for the rest of us. With tears in my eyes, I told her, “My bed is your bed.” We even carried her to the top of the playset in the backyard so she could look out over her domain.

Eventually the inevitable had to happen. My parents and I drove to the vet, placed Pixie on that terrible table, and stroked her as she faded away. We brought her body home and buried her in the backyard near her diesel truck herding race track. At that moment I wondered if I really could take the pain of losing more dogs throughout life. That was only one of a few thoughts going through my head, with the primary thoughts revolving around the question “now what?”

Like anyone who loses their buddy, I needed a distraction. I filled the bathtub with hot water, filled a mug with ice cream, and grabbed my book for some evening reading. In retrospect I really should have just grabbed a whole pint of ice cream… or beer. Oh well. As I was finishing up, I heard the phone ring and then heard my mom softly say that we’d put Pixie down, and she thought I was still in the bathtub.

“No, I can talk,” I said once I learned the call was for me. I’m not sure if I even knew who was on the other end before the phone was passed to me, but I soon heard the voice of Charlie again.

“I’m really sorry about the loss of your dog, but I have some news that may cheer you up a little,” Charlie said. “I’m pleased to say that we’d like to offer you the Chancellor’s Tuition Waiver, which will cover your first year’s tuition!”

Although very heartbroken over Pixie’s passing, I couldn’t help but excitedly write down that news (with a figure for the savings) and show it to my parents. After all, they had told me that if I got a scholarship, I could go to college in Alaska.

After chatting more with Charlie and then my parents, we decided I really should visit the campus before making a decision. Before I knew it I was booked for a long weekend visit to Fairbanks, Alaska, in April. We’d put Pixie down on March 20th, and I flew to Fairbanks a month later on April 20th.

Upon arriving at the Fairbanks International Airport, I knew my dad would like it; it had fewer than 8 gates. With a late evening arrival, I took a cab to campus after admittedly mispronouncing Tanana Drive. I met up with my hosts Heather and Shalom in Skarland Hall, the smaller of 2 freshmen dorms. There they hosted me while I spent the weekend touring campus, eating lunch on West Ridge, visiting with a Wildlife faculty member, sitting in on the Intro to Wildlife course, learning about the Honors Program, visiting in a Skarland lounge, going to a student production play, running the Run-a-Muck 5K and seeing a sheltie there, and cramming in the back of a van of freshmen to go get ice cream one evening.

Little did I know that I was staying with 1 of my future RAs (Shalom), meeting future friend/fellow OA groupie and employee/fellow wildlife student (James), meeting future friend/fellow honors student (Molly), and staying in the very room that would be my dorm room for 2007-2008 (405 Skarland). I’d had a wonderful weekend, and my parents tell me that when I called home I asked, “Do I have to come home to finish high school? Can’t I just stay here until fall?”

Fly home I did, though, and when I arrived at AP English late in a school day, friends immediately asked if I was going to Alaska for college. Although I hadn’t admitted it out loud to myself or my parents, apparently ‘yes’ was visible on my face, as friends turned my “I don’t know” back at me as a “yes you are.”

If not that very first night home, then in the first couple of days, I nonchalantly told my parents we should print out the housing application. I knew Skarland had 3 floors for residents and Moore Hall had a lame name to go with its 7 full floors; I’d been told Skarland filled quickly, so I should apply for my housing preference as soon as possible. In other words, the Nanooks of Alaska had claimed me.

Sometimes you have to lose something to carry on. In a sad way, maybe Pixie’s passing freed me to leave my childhood and adolescence behind so that I’d take that risk of leaving everything I’d known in Michigan for a whole new adventure. I still miss Pixie terribly when I think about her; my best crying bouts in life have been over Pixie and New Zealand.

Now I can’t truly imagine having gone to college anywhere else. Delaware Valley College is in a pretty part of Pennsylvania, and I was offered a scholarship to run cross country there. Perhaps I would have ended up running and biking the rolling hills for 4 lovely years and riding the train to Philly for cheesesteaks now and then, but the student body was just too small and the tuition too much. Without a doubt I would have had a lot more trouble breaking into the world of field biology – especially in Alaska. I declined my admission there when I accepted a place in Alaska.

Ever since fall 2007, there hasn’t been much looking back. I became a resident and got in-state tuition for my junior and senior years, and this year I’ll be happy to see that PFD money enter my bank account for the third time. (A drawback of all my adventuring is that I’ve spent too much time out-of-state to qualify for the money some years, but I wouldn’t give up those adventures for anything.)

There you have it: the official “long” version of how I got to Alaska. Now that those tears are all dry, please pardon me while I go hitch a ride and backpack the Resurrection Trail + some on the Kenai Peninsula.

*As I typed “my puppy was dying,” I started sobbing silently. Then I proceeded to have tears for a solid 30+ minutes while writing from 2:00-3:00am. You’re welcome.