Kira Bear Johnson

Just shy of three months into mine and Jeff’s married life in Minot, we welcomed the tiniest little ball of black and brown fur to our family. We decided on the name “Kira” from The Lion King 2. Kira was a German Shepherd mix who, as she grew, always kept her puppy look because of her floppy-tipped ears.

Kira was an extremely intelligent dog. She was loyal, sassy, anxious, toy-driven like no other, and all she did was love. Her sass resulted in lots of sighs and mouthy-ness, but she never barked. She would “boof,” as we called it. Boof. It meant she saw something. She’d bark on command, though. She’d play dead. She’d stay, sit, lay, roll over, sit pretty, stand. Actually, she’d do most anything for that ball. She loved fetch.

Kira was born with a body that betrayed her. We didn’t know it for awhile, but at just two years old she was diagnosed with pancreatic enzyme deficiency. She couldn’t digest food on her own so we had to sprinkle pancreas enzymes on her food with water and let it sit 30 minutes every meal before she could eat. No treats. They’d make her sick. But she gained back the weight she lost while we figured out the issue and for the next three years she did alright.

At five, Kira moved back to the east coast with us. She was Minot born and raised! When we moved, she became more anxious than usual. Her body would break out in hot spots and she would get chronic ear infections. She was always pretty prone to them but they would happen back to back sometimes. It wasn’t until much later I figured out it was allergies. She needed special food, but we did trial and error on that to figure out what was best for her skin, ears, and pancreas. Eventually we landed on a food that worked wonders. It was a vegetarian food—that ended up being discontinued only a few short months later. Back to square one.

By six, we started noticing Kira was having pee accidents around the house. We were very confused because she never went inside the house. But we were in the middle of a pandemic! Jeff got a new job and we were packing our house to move to Tampa. We thought maybe it was stress and let it ride out for a bit. Moved to Tampa, it got worse, then we moved a second time because the apartment we had wasn’t working out. As we were calmer in our new space, we assumed Kira would absorb that and settle. Though she was more calm, her incontinence continued. To the point that she was constantly drinking and leaking as if there was no muscle to hold it in at all.

Finally deciding it was time to go to the vet, we dropped $1000 on tests, medicine (because guess what? Skin and ear infections again), just to find out she could have two issues, but they would require further testing. One option could be managed with diet but would never get better. The other was also a lifelong condition requiring more medication. We held off this visit for many reasons: we knew something was wrong with our girl. She wasn’t spunky anymore. She was lethargic, she wouldn’t play with toys, she was losing weight, and of course the obvious incontinence and excessive thirst issue.

It was at this point Jeff and I took a month to talk through all our options. This is never ever a discussion we thought we’d have, let alone a decision we thought we would have to make. Ever. We looked long and hard at our baby and had to decide if this was a quality of life she deserved. Did she deserve to constantly be in pain from ear and skin infections? Did she deserve whatever was causing her abdominal pain (another issue we had to address from her previous visit)? Did she deserve to be “healthy” by having lifelong medications? Was she healthy? Were we financially stable enough to continue with tests and meds and whatever else might come our way?

April 3, 2021, we took our girl for a puppiccino at Starbucks. We spent the day at Holloway Park, hiking the trail in the beautiful Florida sun. She ate nearly all of Jeff’s sandwich at lunch and she got to eat any table scraps she wanted. We took our baby girl to the vet that evening and she ate lots of treats—something she was never able to have—before she was put to sleep. We sat beside her on the floor and pet her as she passed. Our Bear J was finally at peace.

I have never felt pain like this. I feel hollow—numb. I feel like someone scooped out my insides and there’s nothing left. There’s a hole in my heart and in my home. At only seven years old, we had to make an impossible decision for our first baby. We had to decide if our emotions were more important than the big picture which was that inevitably we’d end up at this point sooner than later. My body has trembled with grief and waves of nausea hit me so hard I clutch my stomach for it to pass. Every time I think the tears have subsided they flow again and again. I am usually good with words but they fail me now. Grief is all-consuming and I don’t know how to cope but to write it all down. As if by writing it down I’ll understand it. I lost a part of myself that day. I lost my first little love. I lost my Kira Bear. All I keep telling her is I am so so so sorry.

Kira’s life wasn’t all bad. Kira had a sister, Pepper, for years. Pepper ended up moving with a new family, but they were best buds. Kira lived with lots of cats, and I’m sure she is with Patches again. Kira had so many nicknames. Kira J, Bear J, Bear, Johnson, Booger Johnson, Bristleson, Cowson, the Queen of Sheba, and Crook Johnson, to name a few. She was doopy and sassy and pretty much a nervous wreck. She had to walk backwards a lot because she had a weird fear of slipping (and apparently that made it safer?). She loved the snow and the cold. Whenever we’d let her out in the winter she would dip her snoot into the snow and have a snow beard. It cracked me up every single time she’d come in the house like that.

I had a rule forever that no dogs would be on my rugs. I just wanted a clean rug! She’d always push it. Just a paw or her snoot on it, like “hey, ma, I’m technically listening to your rule.” Kira was super loyal and she didn’t listen to really anyone but me (and sometimes Jeff). Kira saw the birth of my two human babies! She welcomed them (though perhaps she didn’t really want them—her anxiety and all) and accepted that they were now part of the family. Kira lived in North Dakota, North Carolina, New York, and Florida with us. I know her favorite place was North Dakota because cold was her favorite and the dry air didn’t affect her skin as much.

As I’m sitting in my bed writing this, I’m left with a small inkling that peace may be in my future. I’m deep and heavy with grief at the moment, but time has a way of helping us cope. Maybe one day I’ll understand this was the best we could do for her. Maybe one day I will smile at her pictures instead of cry. Maybe the empty, nauseating feeling of her loss will be numbed a bit so I can embrace the memories I have of her and remember that I got seven wonderful years with her. While I grieve at her short life, I have to remind myself she didn’t know that. She lived day by day, caught ball after ball, and just loved. Kira had no idea she fell asleep and never woke up. All she knew was on that day, she spent it with the people she loved most, doing what she loved most, and got to totally sneak some delicious food she knew she couldn’t normally have.

To my Kira Bear: I love you so so much. I never imagined I could love a dog the way I loved you. My heart is forever changed by your pure love and innocence, your melty brown eyes, your bristly fur (which, by the way, I don’t have the heart to clean out of my car yet), your love of balls, and, yes, even your love of snow. Loving you is what made this so utterly difficult but it is also why we did what we did. Our hearts are heavy with grief, but also full of love for you. May you rest in peace, baby girl. No more pain or fear. I hope you’re catching all of the balls wherever you are. Most importantly, I hope you knew how loved you were. You are forever my Kira J.