Originally written December 28, 2017; reposting for posterity

Since many of you asked for the story on Lowry aka “Legend” – here you go. Christmas evening, 2017, just after dinner, we let the dogs out to potty in the backyard at Ryan’s childhood home in Minnesota. There is no fence, but over the previous few days, they established a route they would run, and then return to the back door (the colder it got, the quicker they returned). Even when Lowry’s hunting instinct allowed him to catch a rabbit, he proudly brought it to us at the back door. So, when Major came back without Lowry, we assumed he’d caught the other rabbit and would be back momentarily, particularly because it was around -4 with a real feel in the -20s at the time. When he didn’t respond to Ryan’s whistle, we knew he’d probably taken off after something and was too far – he’s a beautiful athlete of a dog who can run and run and RUN, like the wind. We headed out in three cars to look throughout the neighborhood, getting out to explore the many wooded areas, creeks, parks, etc, as long as we could stand it (frostburn and frostbite happen FAST in these temps). Several Park Valley neighbors joined us in searching despite it being Christmas and unbelievably cold, and Barb posted on a South Hopkins nextdoor site and there were many, many people working on that end. A wonderful example of community that meant SO much.

For those who have never been in this kind of cold, it’s just not possible to explain it except to say – when Texas people were posting all about freezing to death, we were dealing with temps fully 50 degrees COLDER. The reality is – if a dog like Lowry (thin, no winter coat, no winter experience!) stops moving, they die.

After a couple of hours, we forced the kids to go back to the house and stay, while Ryan, Brett, and I continued to drive a wider and wider area looking, getting out, walking everywhere as long as we could handle it, through snow drifts and ice, then getting in to warm up before going out again. You never know how or when to decide to stop. But eventually, we knew – we weren’t finding him, there are a million places where he could go, and we couldn’t risk ourselves out in the cold any longer.

The next morning, Ryan and I went back in daylight and looked everywhere, again, in a wide radius, and found nothing. We simply could not imagine that he could survive the cold and keep moving for so many hours. It had been as cold as -25 overnight. The grief we felt was literally overwhelming. We had fairly successfully navigated our first Christmas without Ryan’s dad, and the last time our family would be together in Ryan’s childhood home of 42 years. Now we had to put aside our own grief – again – and parent two teenagers through a massive, unexpected loss – again. We decided that what we loved about Lowry was his free spirit, his athleticism, his commitment to the hunt, and his ability to run. He was a legend. So if he was to go, what better way than doing what he loves? (yes, that was the parenting spin – alone in a room, we could hardly breathe imagining what he went through out in the elements). Both kids accepted that, but wished we at least found him and had his tags. None of us wanted to go back to Texas without them.

For that day and half of the next (same weather – no warming trend whatsoever), we tried to keep busy. I was headed out to take the kids to a movie to burn some time (which crawls in times like these) when I received a voicemail from a gentleman saying he had Lowry, wasn’t sure if it was a he or she, and wanted to talk to how we could get him back to us. I immediately called back and discovered his address was more than 2.5 miles away, as the crow flies. We would NEVER have found him. We knew he must have found him curled up, frozen, since he didn’t know male or female and of course wouldn’t want to check beyond looking at the tag. We told the kids they couldn’t come (we weren’t sure what shape he was in) and headed that way. We were torn between fresh grief, peace at having closure, and admiration for his ability to make it that far – legend! (because who knows how many miles he actually covered, back and forth, to make it that far!). On the way, we made cremation arrangements and it just hit us all over again. We pulled up, got ourselves together, and knocked on the door. After some barking by a little dog inside (which made me irrationally angry), Chuck and his wife Bert opened the door and invited us in. I couldn’t talk so Ryan was “doing the deal” when I looked over toward the barking little dog…and saw Lowry’s face, eyes looking at me, from the other side of a baby gate. I grabbed Ryan’s arm and said, “he’s ALIVE!” – to which Ryan did not react – so I said it again, and Ryan just bent over. Poor Chuck – he was bewildered – I told him, “We thought he was dead!” and Chuck said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I never thought to say he was alive!” In retrospect, we’re sure Chuck didn’t realize how very long Lowry had been gone – almost 48 hours when he was found. Again – legend! What dog survives that? Lowry!

Lowry looked even thinner than usual, and was basically in shock. He was shedding hair like crazy while we held him. He flinched if touched when he couldn’t see it first. We were able to go grab the kids and Major before we headed to an animal hospital. All of the workers at Glen Lake Animal Hospital couldn’t believe the story, and just loved on him. The doctor examined him, and he had some nail and paw injury, as well as loads of burrs embedded in his fur. He lost almost 8 lbs in two days (more than 20% of his body weight) and the vet discovered he’d gotten into garbage and eaten paper and some other stuff, which indicates that he really did survive outdoors in the elements all that time.

For the first night, he had some trouble settling down – he always sleeps with eyes squeezed shut, but he fought sleep like a baby does for most of the evening. When he woke this morning, he walked like an old dog with hip problems, taking the stairs one at a time instead of bounding up in 3 leaps as he was doing before. But throughout today, he has eaten, taken the meds the doctor gave us, and we’ve already seen his usual Lowry personality and physicality returning, down to the tail wagging.

As I mentioned, I always liked dogs but until Major and Lowry, I wasn’t really a dog person per se. When you are an adult, especially with tweens and teens, your dogs really become the unconditional love you treasure on days when it feels there isn’t enough love going around. You take care of them day in and day out; they aren’t like children but neither are they like animals. I did not understand how deeply they burrowed into my life until those two days and nights when I thought Lowry was gone forever, and we were facing a new normal – again.

I’m so grateful for the many friends and family who checked in, prayed, and most of all, didn’t belittle or marginalize our feelings. The Hopkins community was so lovely in efforts to find him, alive or not. The Glen Lake Animal Hospital and Dr. Bettendorf were just the best. And we have huge gratitude to Chuck and Bert for helping get Lowry inside – he was skittish by the time they found him, and fortunately they used body language and words that we often use when we put him to bed, so he obeyed and came in their house.

And a last word – if Ryan loves you, and something happens to you, he WILL NOT STOP trying to find you/help you/fix you until I make him stop. He will do anything for the people – and animals – he loves. If nothing else, I’ve learned all over again how lucky Texan, London, and I are to have him.