Lizzie was my dog, and I loved her. She came to us in the month of October 2009. She was part Husky, Samoyed, Golden Retriever, and Australian Sheperd. We live along the shore of Puget Sound and bounded by hills and trees. Lizzie lived her life unconfined. She was able to explore the shoreline and tide flats and the hills and forest at her will. In the summer months our kitchen door was usually open, and she could come and go as she pleased. She was her own dog. I was her human and am an avid hiker and backcountry skier. I am drawn to the mountains and the solitude of nature. In the mountains I was usually not accompanied by other people, but I was not alone, Lizzie was with me, and I was with her. Lizzie loved being in the mountains and loved the snow. I live near a National Park which I know little about. Dogs are not allowed on trails in the park and so I did not go. Lizzie and I spent countless hours in the mountains of the Northwest national forests. Lizzie lacked an attribute that is found in many dogs that made our travels through the woods worry free. She had no desire to chase the animals of the forest for any great distance. Did she love to chase and search for squirrels and chipmunks as we encountered them, yes, though never successful in finding them. She was friendly to all people and would run towards them and be greeted by them with smiles. There were times when she startled someone, but as soon as they realized “what” she was, she got the greeting she’d come to expect, one of smiles and petting and hellos. I don’t think she ever had an unpleasant encounter with a person. Lizzie taught me things. After a hike I would go right to the car, put my backpack inside, have Lizzie jump inside, then I’d get in, and drive away. After about 5 years together, one day Lizzie said “no, I’d rather not get in and drive away”. We could communicate well, and she had a way of politely telling me: “no”. I’d ask her to do something, and she would stare straight at me and fold her legs under her into a sphinx position. I gave her the latitude to say “no”. I’d say: “What? What do you want? It’s time to go?” But she would continue to stay laying down and staring. At first, I would badger her until she finally would acquiesce and get into the car. But after a few times, I decided to just sit with her, look at the trees, have a drink of water, and ponder what we’d just done. After 5 minutes or so I’d say: “are you ready?” and she would jump right up and get into the car. She just wanted to relax and observe for a few minutes before we left, and I came to realize she was right, there was no need to rush right off. This is still the way I end my hikes, except now I take the time to think about her.