Fourteen years ago I was volunteering at the Berkshire animal shelter when a litter of 10 large balls of fur were brought in and put up for adoption. I called my sister and said they weren’t Labs, which is what they were looking for, but that they might want to take a look at these puppies.
A few days later a shepherd/ husky/what-have-you mix became my sister’s family’s dog. Her daughter Arielle named him Mystic.
From a giant ball of fur he grew into a speeding, fun, gentle giant. And he grew some more.
When I looked after Arielle, once she was in bed, Mystic and I would sit in the kitchen contemplating life. Me on the floor and him with his back braced against my legs so I could scratch him good.
Whenever I visited, he would bark and wag his body, waiting for me to get out of the car as he was held back by the electric fence. He would nuzzle my hand and then run wildly, feet pounding like a race horse.
Mystic passed away this morning. His death was quite sudden, caused by an bleeding mass that had probably been a minor irritation for some time. He was a good hearted dog, wanting nothing more than to be with his humans and to run in the yard.