NINE Months ALONE: A Canine Story of Survival
By Jim Bernecker

 I didn’t give him a forty-eight hour chance of survival in the harshness of Wyoming.

 We can discuss with people the methodology of survival and will to live. But how do we comprehend the mind and vigilance of a seven month old puppy to live alone in the wilds of Wyoming … from the heat of summer to the record snows of fall and winter.

 It was a sunny weekend in April 2006. I had our new seven month old puppy at the fire station on Interstate 80 in Wyoming between Cheyenne and Laramie. He was off leash, as he was doing just fine in his basic training skills during his first three months with us. Kenai, named after our love for the Alaska River of the same name. Though uniquely shy since the day we got him from a long time breeder in Longmont, Colorado, he was developing into my sixth perfect Chesapeake Bay retriever. Known for their hardiness, strength, natural hunting instincts, and strong will, I questioned that will and shyness in Kenai.

 My volunteer chores around the fire house on I-80 came to a close, and as we left the building a train happened by just across the frontage road. A deafening howl of the train whistle caught us both by surprise. Kenai bolted away from the train up behind the fire house with me yelling “Kenai NO” likely adding to his fright. Assuming his launch was to the top of the hill for a hide and sulk session I finally made it to the top of the hill along the new antelope fence along Hwy 80. I could see for miles and there was no Kenai.

 There were endless routes but all within my line of sight. I searched the many rocks for his hiding place. I tracked his prints before they became lost in the rocks. I called and whistled and walked and tracked for hours. I drove I-80 east and west for miles. When darkness came four hours later I was completely at a loss as to how this frightened dog could simply disappear in a land where you can see twenty miles in any direction.

 My wife was out of town, and again I made a sickening phone call to advise her of some terribly bad news. Just three months prior I had to tell her of our son’s death in a phone call. With the loss of life there is “anew”. This dog was some small connection to a “new” life that allowed us to cope and continue the “mend”.

 I drove back to Fort Collins with an utter sense of failure. How could I let this happen to a small, joyful animal that was so important to both of us? Knowing the perils of the night, I gave this shy, timid dog maybe forty-eight hours to survive. He could not ward off a pack of coyotes, nor the mountain lions, or speeding cars and trucks of I-80. If he survived the night, the warmth of the day would bring the rattlesnakes. So much danger for such a young dog.

 Everybody knew of the lost dog in just a few days. Rural neighbors are best at passing the word, about anything! A “lost dog” poster was quickly placed in the local post office. Calls and emails to all who had the technology. All the volunteer firefighters knew and were on the lookout. My wife Pegge posted Kenai’s loss on www.dogdetective.com for nationwide notification. ALL that could be done was being done. Pegge and a friend, Kathy drove the nearby ranches and ranch'etts to advise of the lost puppy. No one had seen Kenai, but the word was out. I was certain of his quick demise to the hungry patrons of the night. An identification tag on his collar notified the world how to get a hold of us and who this little lost soul was.  Though not feeling hopeful on the inside, I said to all that somebody will find him. Pegge was the eternal optimist, relying on my tales of Chesapeake strength and intelligence. Kenai didn’t seem to be the epitome of this strength and stamina however.

 Enthusiastic days turned into skeptical weeks. Yet another loss weighed heavy on our hearts for months. Each trip to the area was solely tuned to watching the horizon for movement and maybe a glimpse of a very special four-legged. The cabin and acreage we enjoyed on the Wyoming border was always the rendezvous point we expected Kenai to wander into … ten miles south of where we lost him. Each weekend trip with that subtle disappointment of no Kenai coming off the porch as the truck pulled up to the cabin.

 The weeks turned to quarters of a year and the hope of a miracle was fading away for me. Pegge still had the feeling that somebody had Kenai and a reunion was possible. All my buddies and I were a bit more realistic. We’ve all hunted and fished the area for thirty years and knew the perils of survival. There was nothing to do but hope for a phone call.

 Our Siberian Husky knew the loss as well. His usual vigilance along the fence line and the pesky annoyance of the new little buddy was painfully missed. Rooka was lethargic and missing his playmate.

 With the coming of winter and harshness of 2006 storms the faint glimmer of hope all but faded away. Needing a peaceful retreat from a painful 2006 we decided to go to Kenai, Alaska to see Pegge’s parents for Christmas. The excitement of seeing winter in Alaska was refreshing. The day we were to leave, Pegge jumped onto www.dogdetective.com to erase the entry of Kenai’s loss. It had been long enough and the New Year was approaching. When asked for her password, it was long forgotten and so the removal of his listed loss was to take place when we returned.

On December 24th upon our arrival in Kenai, Alaska, I received a phone call from one of the firefighters: “Jim, call Brenda at this number, she thinks she saw your dog.” Brenda had seen the listing on dog detectives and the reference to the fire house on I-80 spurred her to remember the poster at the post office many months ago. She knew Tom was on the fire department and called him to get our name.

 Brenda had been feeding her cattle on her ranch west of I-80 about five miles north of where Kenai was lost. Her description of a dog coming out of a cow carcass, apparently feeding or from protection from the blowing snow, was just too close to Kenai. The color, the tags, the shyness. He never got closer to her than 40 yards in the next week as we finished our vacation in Kenai Alaska. Our return date was December 31, 2006.

Emails each day kept us posted of his appearance or lack thereof. Major storms, wind, and snow prevailed over these next few days. Her sightings were not consistent but hope filled our hearts. She went to feed him every morning.

 We arrived on the red eye in Denver at 6:00 am from Anchorage. We Immediately dropped off our bags at the house in Fort Collins and gathered the appropriate dress. Heavy winter gear was in order. We blasted up Hwy 287 towards Laramie to Red Mountain Road which intersects 287 to I -80 and the location of our cabin. Blowing snow stopped our passage and we had to re-route one and one-half hours through Laramie to I-80, and the ranch. We made the ranch at 3:00 pm.

 While introductions and hugs took place we were anxious to get a glimpse of this gypsy dog. The rancher and I agreed that if it was our dog, by now he was a wild animal and options were grim. His collar would surely be tightening around his neck and causing problems. If he wasn’t tore up from defending himself against coyotes he would surely be a seasoned fighter and not the dedicated retriever. Brenda and Pegge headed up the hill in two feet of snow on a big John Deer Tractor to watch for him. I glassed the area with binoculars. No Kenai.

 His appearances were mostly at 9:00 am when Brenda fed the cattle. Her dog food offerings were being welcomed, but with no sign of a friendship. With the turn of her head this dog would be gone as quickly as he had appeared. Darkness fell and we headed home with agreements to meet again at 9:00am tomorrow. Weather permitting.

 The feeling of hope is a powerful medium. On one hand I wanted to see Kenai. But not as a wild animal. He may have to be shot to keep him from a slow agonizing death of a collar strangling him. Amazing that he hasn’t been shot as ranchers don’t take kindly to roaming dogs among their cattle. Our anticipation was overwhelming.

 At 9:00 am sharp the next morning we had made the one hour drive to the ranch. I scoped the hills atop the area where Brenda had said he hung out. I saw a dog at 500 yards. Not a wisp of a puppy, but a full size, barrel chested, Chesapeake Bay Retriever with the ID tag dangling from the collar. Pegge and Brenda once again made their way through the snow on the tractor as I ran far behind and watched with binoculars their approach. I could hear nothing from the wind.

 I had prepared Pegge that even though we may find him the chances of his condition and temperament being conducive to a reunion is slim. I watched the tractor slow to a stop and Pegge climb down to now windblown and shallow snow. I couldn’t see a dog but saw the actions of Pegge coaxing an animal in.

 As I watched through binoculars as I had done thousands of times at sights and animals of unimaginable beauty, there was no such awe like seeing Kenai jump into the arms of my wife as this miracle reunion took place. It was this long lost puppy whose life changed with the huge sound of a train whistle nine months ago, almost to the day.

 Happy New Year! On January 1, 2007 the joy of this animal once again re-united with his family was beyond comprehension. I ran the rest of the way to yelling distance and his response to me was equal in shock and joy. After we wrestled and played, as if he realized his new found safety, Kenai ran directly to Brenda with a romping thank you for her efforts in the journey. The next half hour was play, tears, and astonishment. Kenai’s body was now lean and strong. His coat was clean and magnificent from the snow and cold. He smelled of hay and the blood on his jowls was surely that of his breakfast bunny. The only scar was on his snout, and we knew the story. It was from Rooka, our husky, who bit him over a competing toy when he was six months old.

 The food we had was taken from hand as gentle as he had done nine months ago. His basic commands of sit, stay, come, and mark were exactly at the stage when he disappeared. The “S” hook holding his ID tag was paper thin, and told us that no one had gotten close to him in nine months. We headed down to more re-union with the Rancher and his wife at the house.

 The rope I had as a leash was likely to be the next challenge. As free as an eagle for nine months I could only imagine the fight I was going to have when that clip snapped shut on the D ring of his collar. I hooked the leash, and easily led him in at heal to awaiting ranch dogs and people.

We all bawled like babies at his friendly gestures to all. The rancher said he’d never seen anything like it and probably never would.

 We opened up the door of the truck and with one help up Kenai sat in the backseat as if he’d never left. An hour drive with his head in Pegge’s lap with noises from his body … not of whines but deep affection.

 The reunion continued with our arrival home to his dog house that had never moved, and the hay still there from when he was lost. Rooka the Husky was overwhelmed at the return of his friend. They played and wrestled for hours. Only now Rooka recognized the size and power of his little lost buddy.

 The collar that somehow lasted for the nine months was too tight in just ten days and his re-entry to family life was beyond comprehension. His attention to sights and sounds is uncanny. Little or no barking as I’m sure that “tell” in the wild was life threatening.

 That night we all sat in the hay with triple cheese burgers for all to celebrate the miracle of Kenai. I would trade ten years of my own life to be able to talk to this dog for one day.

As if a switch was pulled, Kenai went from survivor to family dog in the course of that two minutes after Pegge stepped off that tractor. This gentle soul will forever lift our hearts and give hope to any situation. My lesson of faith was once again renewed.

Click HERE to return to the Newsletter