Living in Alaska definitely has its pros and cons, but last Wednesday was one example of a pro. On that day, Governor Sean Parnell announced the amount of the 2014 Permanent Fund Dividend. For those of you who don’t know, the PFD is the oil-related money paid out to qualifying residents of Alaska every year. Here’s a summary of the history of the PFD and how it works. Today I’m quite happy to be counted among those who call the far North “home.”

With last Wednesday being Announcement Day and this summer being the 10 year anniversary of my visit to Alaska, now seems as good a time as any to write out how I came from 18 years in the suburbs of Detroit to my present place as a graduate of the University of Alaska Fairbanks and resident of Alaska.

To tell that story, we must revisit the sad story of my puppy Pixie, who was my best bud from before I can even remember. There’s a little information about it in my post from 2013 on Not Saying Goodbye, but maybe we should just start at the beginning.

Way back in the beginning of my life, I had no passion. My mom had wanted 3 kids, but my dad wanted 2; as a result, number 3 came in canine form. Come summer 1991, my parents decided it was time for a dog to join the family. My mom and her closest cousin checked out a litter of Shetland Sheepdog pups, and the soon-to-be “Pixie” was chosen to become my little sister. Enter, my passion.

Coming into the house, Pixie was intended to be the family’s dog. Obviously my memories are a bit fuzzy, as I was rather young when Pixie joined the family, but over time it became clear that she was my dog. I could hug and pet her whenever I wanted, while the others weren’t as likely to be granted a hug. – As a side note, when I was in first grade, we redecorated my bedroom. To no surprise to anyone who knows me, I requested the theme to be purple and puppies. – I’d proudly take my puppy on walks through the neighborhood and play frisbee in the backyard. And by the way, a dog = a puppy, in my phrasing. I’d help her chase squirrels up trees at home and seagulls off the beach at Lake Superior. She’d give me “puppy kisses,” and I’d give her all the petting she could ever want. At Christmas I’d wrap a can of dog food, pack of treats, and a sandwich for her to open with my help. We were inseparable over the years, and she was my best bud.

Now we’ll fast forward to high school when we were both a little older. For my brother’s high school graduation trip, our family flew to Alaska to spend a month of summer 2004 traveling on the Kenai Peninsula, around Anchorage, in Denali, and up to Fairbanks. Having only finished 1 year of high school, I had virtually no thoughts on where I’d go to college.

I’ll admit our family did what many Alaskans hate: we rented a motorhome for part of our stay. [In defense of motorhome travel: camping and cooking for yourselves is a LOT cheaper than hotels and eating out.] We also did some backpacking on the Kenai and in Denali’s backcountry, so we weren’t that awful, compared to many people. In Fairbanks we visited the Museum of the North and the Large Animal Research Station affiliated with UAF, and we even rode the Riverboat Discovery! Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be a deckhand making that delicious salmon dip for tourists to sample 9 years later! Our whole family thought Alaska was pretty spectacular, but apparently it made a lasting impact on me.

When my brother started college in Boston that fall of 2004, my parents drove there to help him get settled. At the time, I was starting my sophomore year of high school, and we kept Pixie in the basement overnight. On my first morning alone at home, I went to the top of the steps and called my usual, “Hi, Pixie! Want some breakfast?”

That morning, instead of seeing her walk from around the corner and start climbing the steps, there was a delay before I saw her toddle around the corner, hesitantly put her front paws on the steps, and then collapse.

“PIXIE!” I cried, “What’s wrong?”

I raced down the steps to her and watched her fail to support her own weight as she tried to climb the steps. Already in tears, I carried her up the steps and set her down in the kitchen. She managed to walk a little, but she leaned to one side and still collapsed. Something was very wrong with my friend, but I was home alone and running on a morning school schedule that included catching the bus.

My parents were driving through Canada and tended to keep their cell phones off to avoid international rates, so I couldn’t tell them of Pixie’s condition. I called my aunt and uncle who live only a 5 minute drive away, but nobody answered the phone. After leaving a sob-ridden message about how Pixie couldn’t walk and how we needed to take her to the vet, I left her with food and water before forcing myself to walk to the bus stop and go to school.

Those first 3 periods were probably the longest hours of school I’ve ever endured, as all I could do was fight back tears as I thought about poor Pixie. Finally I got called out of math class to go home with my aunt, where we found Pixie was about in the same state but maybe with a little more walking capability.

We carried her to the van and drove her to the vet to learn that she’d suffered from a stroke, which explained the leaning to one side. With some medication in hand and instructions from the vet, we returned home for me to start nursing Pixie back to health while my parents were gone. Over time she regained her strength for walking and climbing as the lean righted itself. Since she lost a fair bit of hearing to the stroke, Pixie’s overall recovery was probably about 85%.

Considering how worried sick I’d been, 85% was plenty good for the next few years. Other than the hearing loss, Pixie was back to her old self but obviously beginning to slow down with age. Herding the diesel trucks at the village office behind our back fence was no longer so important, and squirrels weren’t quite so tempting to chase. Still, I had my furry little sister.

By the time my latter years of high school rolled around, I’d decided to study Wildlife Biology. While getting inundated with mail from colleges around the country, I noticed that Anchorage’s private Alaska Pacific University had a wildlife program. “I could go to college in Alaska,” I thought to myself. When I presented the idea to my parents, they suggested I look at public universities. Enter, the University of Alaska Fairbanks. At roughly $24,000 a year for out-of-state residents, the price was comparable to in-state at Michigan State University. After learning more about the school’s program, my parents said that if I got a scholarship, I could go.

I wasn’t sold on heading north to Alaska from the get-go. Also in the running were:

• Michigan State University
• Delaware Valley College (Pennsylvania)
• Purdue University (Indiana)

Choosing from amongst my 4 college choices ended up spreading out over a number of months. I turned down my acceptance to Purdue first, since I really only applied there to have a slightly more prestigious school on my list. I couldn’t bring myself to say “no thanks” to Michigan State until April 2007, and even when I declined admission, I felt part of my soul die. Although I didn’t go to college there, I’ll always be a Spartan fan!

The final decision lay between tiny Delaware Valley College and UAF. Now, of course, it’s time to travel to fall of my senior year.