An ode to Odin

ODIN, my Siberian Husky died last Tuesday (14th May, 2013). He was barely seven months old before he departed for the great kennel in the sky.

Though his life was short, he ruled over our lives and won our hearts. And like the ancient Norse God he was named after, he was wise and knowledgeable. At least to me, he was a teacher like no other.

Of all the lessons he imparted to me, whether intentionally or not, the first would have had to be about ‘health’.

Even when Odin was a tiny baby, no more than the size of two palms, he always had a bad case of diarrhea. This was where I learnt how every morsel of food that goes into our bodies was important.

When this furkid grew bigger, its appetite for a good exercise also grew. We went for walks in the neighbourhood, and when we picked up the pace, Odin sprinted like the wind. The grace in which this beautiful animal ran was always a sight to behold.

So, in trying to meet the physical needs of my pet, I myself was encouraged to re-adjust my life with a healthier diet and exercise routine.

The second set of Odin’s little lessons is about having the right kind of ‘attitude’ in life.

Odin always had this inquisitive soul and an adventurous spirit. It was Husky trait: to question, to sniff, to explore. A new environment, a new person, or new item was always an excitement for this guy. He never stopped making the most out of every new situation he discovered. Pounce at it, ngaw, chew, he would do it all.

From him, I learnt to keep a positive attitude and live life to the fullest. Never stop being curious about everything. If I do something, I must do it with all my heart and mind and soul. If Odin had a motto to life, that would have been it.

Belying unbridled energy and spunkiness, Odin never appeared to be angry, despite his ‘fierce’ wolfy looks. In fact, I believe he easily forgave and never held grudges. Whenever I lost my patience with him, it was always the dog that taught the human. If I scolded and gave him a spanking, he would sulk but within minutes he would be back again to his cheerful self.

They say to err is human, to forgive divine. I guess Odin was always divine.

The last lesson, and perhaps the most profound, only struck me during the last days of Odin’s life, when Odin was sick.

He was not eating, he was not drinking. He was neither happy nor active. In fact, when the blood test showed that his insides were in very bad condition, the doctor said a normal human being would have been shrieking out in pain. But he was quiet.

In the veterinary hospital, where he was put on drips, Odin showed a brave and stoic front and fooled all of us into thinking he could get better. He could even sit up straight and walked with us. We did not know that he was about to die, but he knew.

I believe that he did it out of love, that he could not bear to see us sad.

Whatever it was, Odin passed away in his sleep that fateful day. Doctors said that his liver and kidney had failed and simply shut off.

Looking back now, I could only conclude that he has loved us all his life without any condition whatsoever. And one of my greatest regret was that I did not spend enough time and energy, to deserve such love.

Let this be another lesson: do not neglect the people who love us, and if you love, do so fully, unconditionally. Even as my dog loved me like all dogs would love its owners, I remind myself that we have to love with all our hearts.

All these were the things Odin, in all his simple self, showed me. To me, he was not just a dog, but a companion, a friend, a teacher. Unexpectedly, he has taught me so much more about life than I ever could ask for.

Rest in peace, dear Odin.