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“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
-Rumi

Indiana came into our family home in February of 1999. She was born in Chester, CT , in December of 1998 to her momma, a black lab called Lulu. She was one of 11 or 12 puppies. When she was born, she was a tiny runt who couldn’t breathe. She had a twin sibling, birthed in the same sac that did not make it. “Lucky” was saved via human resuscitation (thanks to Tyler) and was so small that she fit inside the pocket of a cargo pant, ‘cause cargo pants were a thing in 1998.

We held a family meeting and changed her name to Indiana--for Dr. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones, Jr., Indy for short of course, an ode to the franchise of particular fondness to me and my brothers as children. I welcomed Indy very happily, reviving warm memories of growing up with Kilo, whom we had when I was born and died when I was about 11. It was nice to have a dog again; plus, Indy was social, super small and soft, making her a friend to everyone and an excellent nap time snuggle buddy.

Indy was a pain the ass when she was in her puppy days. Doing as puppies do she whimpered constantly, peed on all our rugs, and chewed through most of my socks, underwear, books, and sandles, and was often escaping from the yard to chase cars and get lost in the neighborhood. There were at least two occasions where she got picked up by the local dog pound. She made up for it in adorableness and I guess we forgave her for teaching us to be less attached to stuff, and more responsible for animals that don’t know any better.

A wild thing about Indy is that she was intersex. That’s right. My dog had male and female parts. While she never would have been able to successfully reproduce, she had a vagina and balls. It sounds crazy, but it’s true. She actually parted ways with the testicles when we brought her to get neutered. The vet intended to remove ovaries that she ultimately didn’t have, and I guess figured they might as well remove her internal testicles to make the surgery worth it? Anyway, it makes for a good story.

I moved out of the house when I was 18, but was back every now and again for school breaks and holidays, and lived at home over two separate transitional phases in my 20s. Indy was a huge help to me at some of my loneliest times. I can remember how she would hear my crying (on occasion screaming) and come sit with me. She also liked to lick tears, b/c they are salty and taste awesome to dogs. I think that as pack animals, especially certain breeds, dogs look out for those they consider to be their own. I don’t tend to anthropomorphize, but I suppose I perceived Indy’s presence during these times as empathic. And I am grateful to have had her comforting canine companionship, as it was most needed.

There is a lovely, wooded nature preserve on the Connecticut River that is a short drive from my childhood home. We brought Indy there since puppyhood, so she could run freely, chase squirrels, swim in the river, and poop without consequence. Indiana loved those woods. It brought out her wildness, and seemed to be her favorite place. I would take her trail-running there, and until she about about 10 or 11 she could run two laps in the time it would take me to run one. In her older years, runs transitioned into slower walks. She could no longer chase woodland creatures, mostly ‘cause she couldn’t see or hear them. But she still perked up to be out among the trees.

August 1st was Indy’s last day. I wasn’t with her, but my Mom took her for her last walk in the woods and fed her a bowl of ice cream, one of the many human treats she loved so well. She left us quietly and peacefully, and with so many happy memories. I imagine you running freely, catching your first squirrel, and sneaking treats from the dinner table without reprimand, in doggie spirit land! We will miss you, Booja-loo.