Cyrus Forbes: April 30, 2000 ~ July 5, 2009

During my first week of dating Scott in March 2007, one of the first things he shared with me was Cyrus’s baby album, a black photo album that contains about a hundred images of Cyrus when Scott first got him as a seven-week-old puppy in Arizona. This photo album, second to Cyrus himself, was what Scott was most proud of. It’s like when people pull out photos of their children to share. Turning the pages then and ohhing and ahhing over how cute Cyrus was as a puppy, I had no clue what he would end up meaning to me, how my love for Cyrus would go hand in hand with my love for Scott and Scott’s love for me.

I don’t know the first thing about pets and their personality development scientifically speaking, how much is nurture versus nature, but I can take my guesses. Pets who are loved and taken care of will behave as such, pets who are not have more behavioral issues. Of course, there are exceptions to this. When asked about Cyrus’s training, Scott attributed most of the credit to Cyrus’s role model as a puppy, a golden retriever named Tia who belonged to Scott’s then girlfriend, Lee Ann. Scott, Lee Ann, Cyrus, and Tia all lived together in harmony and went on trips and outings together. Several pictures in Cyrus’s baby album are of Cyrus and Tia together, often intertwined, playing together, or sleeping together. But despite Tia and DNA, it was evident to me that part of what made Cyrus such an amazing dog was how much Scott loved him. It’s impossible to describe in words the tenderness with which Scott used to pet Cyrus sometimes, the looks he’d give him. It’s almost captured in the early puppy pictures of Cyrus. It’s the touch and look of complete adoration and care, utter loyalty. Wherever Scott was, Cyrus was.

There are innumerable stories and memories of Cyrus. He was great with kids. Whether or not he disliked kids as his owner does, Cyrus never showed it as his owner never does. All kids, whatever size, could walk, or toddle, to Cyrus and pet him as softly or as clumsily as they’d like, and Cyrus would not flinch. If they threw him a ball, he’d be their best friend. This was the case with any person of any age. Cyrus was not discerning with who he liked. In fact, he liked almost everyone and everyone liked him. Scott’s co-worker’s husband, Tom, said, “It’s rare to find humans who touch as many people as Cyrus did.”

Cyrus hated the boat, being on the boat, but he loved the spots where the boat could bring him. Like a bear, he could eat blueberries off a bush. For every birthday, Cyrus was given the gift of a pound of ground beef cooked into a burger. Cyrus went to work with Scott everyday that Scott went to work and became a fixture in the Fish and Game office in Wrangell. Cyrus had the softest big ears that perked up when you called his name. When I screamed (out of fun, but he would think it was out of danger), Cyrus barked. He inhaled his food and slurped his water loudly. Even at nine years old, Cyrus instantly became a puppy when he was in snow, when a stick was thrown to him, when he could run free. But when he was inside, he was the mellowest dog in the world. In the mornings, Cyrus would lick Scott’s hand. If Cyrus had it in him, he’d lick mine next.

As I wrote in a previous blog entry, Cyrus was my first pet. I had never grown up with a pet or felt any type of true bond with one. Back in September of 2007, when Cyrus got sick under my care (in fact, he was testing me by going into his food container and excessively overeating when I wasn’t looking), I was so worried that I knew my fondness for Cyrus was more than just surface deep. I was falling in. Over the past couple of years, I grew to love Cyrus deeply. He was a comfort when Scott went away on work trips, which he often does for nights at a time or for weeks at a time. Cyrus filled the house with a presence by just lying on the couch, with comfort when I’d hear his footsteps as he walked up the stairs at night, and with love every time he wagged his tail. He was a reason to go on a million walks, to get out even when it was pouring rain, to wake up in the morning when I wanted to sleep late. Cyrus was the reason for many things, and since he passed away ten days ago, Scott and I are forced to adjust our lives.

And now, whenever Scott and I look at the kitchen table, we meet the adoring eyes, big nose, and exposed tongue of Cyrus in picture form only, next to a vase of wild flowers that need to be thrown out and changed. Amber, Stephen, and their dog Buford – a few of Cyrus’s friends that dot the Wrangell community, the state, and the lower 48 – left these items on our porch the day after Cyrus passed away. The picture of Cyrus in the frame was taken only a few days prior.

This is an email that Scott sent out to friends and family on July 6:

Cyrus passed away yesterday afternoon from internal damages sustained after taking a significant fall in the alpine. He was, of course, in pursuit of yet another stick. He was able to walk down the mountain with me on a wonderfully sunny day.

Cyrus had an uncanny ability to inject energy into every situation (even with a well-timed lifting of his eyebrows) and was always waiting for the next adventure. I feel privileged and enormously lucky to have shared the last nine years with him. I also feel fortunate that so many of you were able to be a part of his life.

Here’s to our loved ones and the passion they incite.

Quitters Never Win, Unless You're Sarah Palin

I was in New York, driving into the city with James from Chappaqua, when the news came out of Sarah's resignation. I was shocked, absolutely shocked, and I wished I could've been in Alaska to hear the fallout. Now that I'm back, I don't know anymore information than I did before.

At 6:15 of the video below Drew Griffen asks Sarah if she's planning on running for president in 2012 and her responses are eerily vague and open-ended. It's a scary time when someone like her can even consider such a possibility.