Willson Fancy Dancing Bear was born, son of Spirit, in my bed on December 9, 1998. He was one of seven pups who declared early on that he wanted to be my dog by leaving his litter mates to lie by my feet. I think he might have been the returning soul of my cat, Cream Puff who had gotten me to keep him rather than his litter mates in precisely the same way. The color of the two was the same, and there was also a strange love of blueberry muffins that they shared. Bear's mother was a Siberian Husky/Shepherd mix and his father, Max, a roving dog about town, was Siberian Husky/Tervurian as best I can tell. Bear looks like a small, more refined Leonberger.
Yes, I write in present tense as Bear is still with me but I fear, not for long. We have an appointment with his Veterinarian this afternoon and the vet will tell me if any medication will give Bear some more good days or if it is time to help him leave his failing body. Today, he struggles terribly to walk and holds his head slightly to one side. He is still responsive and interested in what is going on around him and followed me into the kitchen when I went to make myself some breakfast. I held him up to keep him from falling as we made it back to my bedroom. He's lying on the floor beside me as I write this.
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