Roki
A donation was made in memory of Roki by Jill and David Evander on Apr 23, 2023.
“Hello? Mom?”
There is a sob on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Honey, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
I steeled myself to hear the news. I had been expecting it for years: Grandma’s most recent heart attack was the last. These calls never come at a convenient time. Is there a convenient time? In one hour, I was supposed to be hosting a birthday party. I would just have to cancel. At least the cake wouldn’t go to waste: carrot cake doesn’t console the loss of a parent, but my mom would like it. Plus, the cake would survive the two-hour drive south in the passenger seat, unlike the ice cream that would melt in the bright Spring sun. Besides, I baked this cake from scratch last night and it sounded like I would not be back home for several days. Mom would need help cleaning out the condo.
“We’re at the emergency vet. We need to put Roki down.”
Roki? Roki? My Roki? My Roki Pokey? My dog? The 10-week-old puppy I held in my arms for hours so that he wouldn’t cry only - Was it 9 years ago?
But he’s too young! He’s a Norwegian Elkhound. Their life expectancy is 12 – 15 years. He’s never had a health issue: perfect elbows, hips, and eyes. His sire is still going strong. This dog should live to be 15 years old! He was just here yesterday! He still ran to greet me, dancing around on his paws that he knew he was not allowed to lift off the floor without permission, paws that held down the rugs when I vacuumed, paws that would not cease their dancing until he got his pet.
“He has internal bleeding, Baby, his stomach is full of blood.”
That’s not what took my Livka, my only other dog, when she was put down only seven months ago. Roki had laid by her side for almost every moment during those last few months. Much like he had laid by my dad during his months of cancer treatment, and by me as I recovered from ACL reconstructive surgery, and by Livka as she healed from a torn tendon in her left shoulder. That tendon of Livka’s tore on September 18, 2015 while hiking Granite Mountain. The injury slowed the party’s descent to the point that there were still 3 miles to go when darkness enveloped the trail and Livka could walk no further. The limping dog, now lying stationary in the middle of the trail, had attracted the attention of a cougar that had started stalking the party not long before, just after sunset. There had been slight sounds and minute movements always just behind us and just out of sight to the right. Upon Livka’s fall to the ground, there was a brief still silence. Immediately, Roki charged up the trail behind us with a furious growl resonant in his chest like a double bass. He began running circles around the party, pausing only to bark aggressively uphill. He continued for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to a quarter of that. The daunting lack of motion and sound from where there had been brush rustling before continued. Then with a final rustle, the cougar gave up its prey and retreated, padding away into the last of the gloaming. Roki continued to growl into the night as the party waited for aid. Due to his projection of strength, my friend, her mother, her dog, my father, Roki, and I, with Livka in a steel-framed backpack, made it to the trailhead unscathed at the break of dawn.
This was not the only time Roki rescued hikers from misfortune. On an early Spring day where the sun was just beginning to melt the snow off the trees, that same friend of mine disappeared into a neck-deep snow drift. Roki straddled the hole and lowered himself until she took hold of him. With her grip secured, Roki stood up and pulled her out of the hole.
“I’m on my way.”
“No, Dear, you won’t make it. He won’t make it. There isn’t time.”
There is a sob on my end of the line. There isn’t time. My eyes slide to the clock on the mantle as if checking it will change the two-hour travel time. Beside the clock is a red ribbon. It reads: American Kennel Club (AKC) Founded 1884
Dog Fanciers Association of Oregon Reserve Best in Show January 23, 2016 Portland, OR.
Roki brought that ribbon home when he was just a class dog. He’s a Grand Champion now: GCH CH Janor's Arctic Blast.
His legacy is not just a box full of ribbons in my closet, soon to be dusty. Roki sired 3 litters. His progeny has inherited many of his desirable traits, many of which make them champions and grand champions in the conformation ring, but the most notable of which is his wonderful temperament. Members of the new generation of Norwegian Elkhounds are being put to work as therapy dogs. They have a certain gentle joy that I recognize.
There is a knock at my door. Has it been an hour already? I guess I didn’t call anyone to cancel the party. I stare at the phone thrown across the floor. My throat is constricted. There’s pressure in my sinuses. There’s heat in my eyes. I gasp and let out an unheard scream. A trickle runs through my nose to join the tears on my lips. I wipe my damp face with the towel that replaced the tissues some time ago and blow my nose. My head aches. There is another knock. At the door I still have company, but never again will I have Roki’s returning bark.
Roki started his life on a cold winter night during a storm the news was calling an “Arctic Blast.” He was thus registered under the name Janor's Arctic Blast and called “roki,” a word for windstorm in Icelandic. He went on to perform well in the show ring, gaining his Grand Champion title and subsequently siring several litters. His progeny inherited many of his desirable traits, the most notable of which was his wonderful temperament. He could be trusted to present in public fairs and parades, greeting all with joy and the correct amount of energy.
While he was known for competition nationally, to us he was a friend, companion, and helper. Some of his adventures included hikes in the Cascades. On one such trip, an accompanying dog had trouble, delaying the descent until past sundown. During the descent into the dark, he protected two hikers and two other dogs by projecting strength while a mountain lion probed the group for weakness. On another trip, a hiker broke through the crust of deep snow. Roki, without guidance, crouched by the top of the opening and provided both a handhold and a pull for the hiker to extract them from the hole. At home, Roki would help with all chores, assisting with the vacuuming, yard work and any other activity in which we were engaged. He could be counted on to rest beside us when we were sick, injured, or returning home from surgery. He took a tender approach, routinely inspecting the person or site of concern. His constant gentle joy will be missed.
There is a sob on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Honey, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
I steeled myself to hear the news. I had been expecting it for years: Grandma’s most recent heart attack was the last. These calls never come at a convenient time. Is there a convenient time? In one hour, I was supposed to be hosting a birthday party. I would just have to cancel. At least the cake wouldn’t go to waste: carrot cake doesn’t console the loss of a parent, but my mom would like it. Plus, the cake would survive the two-hour drive south in the passenger seat, unlike the ice cream that would melt in the bright Spring sun. Besides, I baked this cake from scratch last night and it sounded like I would not be back home for several days. Mom would need help cleaning out the condo.
“We’re at the emergency vet. We need to put Roki down.”
Roki? Roki? My Roki? My Roki Pokey? My dog? The 10-week-old puppy I held in my arms for hours so that he wouldn’t cry only - Was it 9 years ago?
But he’s too young! He’s a Norwegian Elkhound. Their life expectancy is 12 – 15 years. He’s never had a health issue: perfect elbows, hips, and eyes. His sire is still going strong. This dog should live to be 15 years old! He was just here yesterday! He still ran to greet me, dancing around on his paws that he knew he was not allowed to lift off the floor without permission, paws that held down the rugs when I vacuumed, paws that would not cease their dancing until he got his pet.
“He has internal bleeding, Baby, his stomach is full of blood.”
That’s not what took my Livka, my only other dog, when she was put down only seven months ago. Roki had laid by her side for almost every moment during those last few months. Much like he had laid by my dad during his months of cancer treatment, and by me as I recovered from ACL reconstructive surgery, and by Livka as she healed from a torn tendon in her left shoulder. That tendon of Livka’s tore on September 18, 2015 while hiking Granite Mountain. The injury slowed the party’s descent to the point that there were still 3 miles to go when darkness enveloped the trail and Livka could walk no further. The limping dog, now lying stationary in the middle of the trail, had attracted the attention of a cougar that had started stalking the party not long before, just after sunset. There had been slight sounds and minute movements always just behind us and just out of sight to the right. Upon Livka’s fall to the ground, there was a brief still silence. Immediately, Roki charged up the trail behind us with a furious growl resonant in his chest like a double bass. He began running circles around the party, pausing only to bark aggressively uphill. He continued for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to a quarter of that. The daunting lack of motion and sound from where there had been brush rustling before continued. Then with a final rustle, the cougar gave up its prey and retreated, padding away into the last of the gloaming. Roki continued to growl into the night as the party waited for aid. Due to his projection of strength, my friend, her mother, her dog, my father, Roki, and I, with Livka in a steel-framed backpack, made it to the trailhead unscathed at the break of dawn.
This was not the only time Roki rescued hikers from misfortune. On an early Spring day where the sun was just beginning to melt the snow off the trees, that same friend of mine disappeared into a neck-deep snow drift. Roki straddled the hole and lowered himself until she took hold of him. With her grip secured, Roki stood up and pulled her out of the hole.
“I’m on my way.”
“No, Dear, you won’t make it. He won’t make it. There isn’t time.”
There is a sob on my end of the line. There isn’t time. My eyes slide to the clock on the mantle as if checking it will change the two-hour travel time. Beside the clock is a red ribbon. It reads: American Kennel Club (AKC) Founded 1884
Dog Fanciers Association of Oregon Reserve Best in Show January 23, 2016 Portland, OR.
Roki brought that ribbon home when he was just a class dog. He’s a Grand Champion now: GCH CH Janor's Arctic Blast.
His legacy is not just a box full of ribbons in my closet, soon to be dusty. Roki sired 3 litters. His progeny has inherited many of his desirable traits, many of which make them champions and grand champions in the conformation ring, but the most notable of which is his wonderful temperament. Members of the new generation of Norwegian Elkhounds are being put to work as therapy dogs. They have a certain gentle joy that I recognize.
There is a knock at my door. Has it been an hour already? I guess I didn’t call anyone to cancel the party. I stare at the phone thrown across the floor. My throat is constricted. There’s pressure in my sinuses. There’s heat in my eyes. I gasp and let out an unheard scream. A trickle runs through my nose to join the tears on my lips. I wipe my damp face with the towel that replaced the tissues some time ago and blow my nose. My head aches. There is another knock. At the door I still have company, but never again will I have Roki’s returning bark.
Roki started his life on a cold winter night during a storm the news was calling an “Arctic Blast.” He was thus registered under the name Janor's Arctic Blast and called “roki,” a word for windstorm in Icelandic. He went on to perform well in the show ring, gaining his Grand Champion title and subsequently siring several litters. His progeny inherited many of his desirable traits, the most notable of which was his wonderful temperament. He could be trusted to present in public fairs and parades, greeting all with joy and the correct amount of energy.
While he was known for competition nationally, to us he was a friend, companion, and helper. Some of his adventures included hikes in the Cascades. On one such trip, an accompanying dog had trouble, delaying the descent until past sundown. During the descent into the dark, he protected two hikers and two other dogs by projecting strength while a mountain lion probed the group for weakness. On another trip, a hiker broke through the crust of deep snow. Roki, without guidance, crouched by the top of the opening and provided both a handhold and a pull for the hiker to extract them from the hole. At home, Roki would help with all chores, assisting with the vacuuming, yard work and any other activity in which we were engaged. He could be counted on to rest beside us when we were sick, injured, or returning home from surgery. He took a tender approach, routinely inspecting the person or site of concern. His constant gentle joy will be missed.
