i used to always make fun of the way some people treated their dogs. i used to tease my mom about her two hyper, yapping yorkies, the way she'd baby them and talk babytalk to them. i hated the dogs, and so it was a mystery to me.

then about five years ago, we got our siberian husky, sergei, named for mark's favorite hockey player, sergei federov. since he was pure bred, we gave him a last name, zackovich. in russian the "ovich" means "son of", and since his daddy's name was zack, well, you see. he was just the cutest thing, with his two blues eyes surrounded by black. he was such a good looking dog, that even as a puppy, GUYS would stop and give him a pet, ooooing and awing over him. and we spoiled sergei. grilled hamburgers on sat, steaks on sun, constant love and attention from three members of the house. he was rotten. of course, our son wanted to play with him, but huskies are very, extrememely pack oriented. and so sergei was cranky with z, because he saw him as the next rung on the family social ladder. his competition in other words.

about two years after getting sergei, a friend of ours told us about her friend in west by god virginia who's pure white german shepherd was going to have pups. the father was half husky, half wolf that the guy had bought in canada. she said the chances of solid white puppies were good. so we told her we wanted one when they were born.

a little while later she made another trip up there and then reported the pups had indeed been born and there were at least four white ones. we were getting excited.

then shortly afterwards, she visited again and gave us a call when she got home. "they're here." so we rushed right over. in the middle of her living room floor were eight puppies, all fighting over a 9x13 pan of food. in the middle was a white, fluffy, fat one. so fat that none of his brothers and sisters could move him out of the way to get any food. all they could do was scamper over and around him. and that's the one we took.

we kept with the russian theme, because let's face it, you got one dog with a russian name the other one needs to have one. we got on the internet and started looking up possibilities, looking closely at the meanings. we had narrowed it down to two. my son wanted yasha(which means "defender of man") and i wanted ilya(eel-ya..hard y as in yankee)because i loved the sound of it. when we couldn't decide, we just gave him both names. yasha ilya samsonov.(his father's name was samson, and we knew samsonov was a common russian name)

the problem was, the pups were only four weeks old. and even tho she claimed they'd been weened, it couldn't have been for longer than two days. yasha squeaked constantly. not a whine, but a squeak, like a little mouse. his nickname became squeaky.

like one does with a newborn child, i held little yasha to my chest, against my beating heart. this seemed to always calm him down. he's been mine ever since.

when my husband would get mad at him, he'd skitter behind me for protection. if they were playing, and yasha got too rough and mark yelled at him, i'd be laying on the couch and he run over and sit right in front of me. we used to laugh because it was as if he were saying "i'm invisible. i'm by my momma."

we have two beautiful dogs. people stoppers they are. when mark walks them, children run from their houses to pet them, people point and stare from their vehicles when they pass. they both walk so tall and proud, their chests sticking out and their tails curled up over their backs as they prance like those white lepazan horses.

but yasha is the one who is my constant white shadow. always stuck to my side whereever i move throughout the house. he always has to be in the same room with me, regardless. after my husband takes him for a walk, the first place he heads when he comes in the door is straight to me. if by chance i leave him in our room, and then leave the house before he comes out, when he does come out with mark, he's frantic looking for me, squeaking and searching every corner of the house.

he's a big, strong, powerful dog. he's knocked more than a few people off their feet. and to be on the other end of his love can be painful at times. he's impulsive, with no control of his impulses whatsoever. whatever he wants he goes after, even if it means jumping out a second story window, which he's done, in order to play with the neighbor dog he sees below.

he has the biggest, sometimes saddest almond shaped brown eyes, surrounded by white lashes, and they can melt even the hardest heart when he looks at you. he's just a big, fluffy happy-go-lucky dog. and he's the only creature, man or animal, who loves me 100% unconditionally.

not only that, but his will is strong as iron. he has hip problems and occassionally it bothers him, but he just powers through. his feet are bad, but he'll play and run outdoors until they bleed. after he rests awhile, he's ready to go again. and poor baby, he doesn't see too well in the light. i've been told that's the way a wolf's vision is. but he can see perfectly in the dark. and his sense of smell is amazing.

it's the will to survive that might just help him through this. but last night i was so worried. after going all day with only a few seizures, a great improvement from the day before, last night he kept having seizure after seizure in just a hours time. his brown eyes were scared and distant. at times he didn't even recognize who i was. by the time we went to bed, i was fighting back tears. i couldn't help but think that he won't make it till thurs(so we're calling the vet tomorrow), that he might not come through this at all. that it might take more money than what we can afford to save him. that i might end up having to put him to sleep.

last night, after about 45 mins in bed, i got up to go to the bathroom. yasha, who'd been in his crate, was standing at the end of the bed in almost a trance like state. when i flipped on the light, he looked scared and foot long strings of drool hung from his hairy chest. my heart broke, right then and there. i cleaned him up, cleaned out his crate, spread some towels on the carpet, gave him some love and went back to bed. there was nothing else i could do, only hope that he'd make it through the night. it was all out of my control.

my husband cleaned him up a little when he got up for work this morning. he said he seemed better, and indeed he does. he's only had one small seizure so far this morning.

yes, i talk baby talk to my dog. i spoil him with treats and love. i will never again make fun of the way people treat their pets, because i know, they're not just dumb animals, but each has a mind and personality of their own. they are as individual as people and have feelings. they can reason if they choose. sergei does. he's such a thinking dog. he reasons that he'd better not do something he shouldn't or he'll get in trouble. he's such an attention whore, but if he gets pissed at us, he'll ignore us until we bribe him with some tasty treat.

so spoil your dogs, love them like your children, because you never know when they they might be taken away from you.