Back to the story of Jack, the cat saved by the internet

Sharik was a wonderful dog, a mixture of golden retriever, chow and possibly half wolf. Her mother was a stray who wandered onto my uncle's farm in southern Illinois and gave birth in the barn. They named the mother Spot, and my cousin swears he saw her mating with a wolf. (The vet said it was possible that her father was a wolf, so I always liked to say she was half wolf, because I love wolves.)

My then-husband and I adopted one of the puppies and added to our stable of Norml, a little rat terrier mix, and Alex, a gray, long haired tabby cat. The three of them adored one another and were friends and loved to play in the country where we lived.

Norml eventually died, and my husband and I divorced - but I kept the pets. After Alex died of cancer, Sharik needed a companion, and several months later, my vet, knowing how devastated I was over Alex's death, called me saying they had some kittens who needed homes. So I got Dmitri.

People thought I named Dmitri after one of my Master's thesis advisers, Dr. Dmitri Shalin, a sociology professor who emigrated from Russia, but that was not true. I just loved the name. (Although I did think Dr. Shalin was cool.)

Sharik's name came primarily from my favorite book, Heart of a Dog by Mikhail Bulgakov. Sharik was a Moscow mongrel who is transformed (thanks to a mad scientist) into a lecherous, vulgar man who spouts Engels and gets a job as Moscow's official "Purger of Cats." It's a wonderful tale and pokes a lot of fun at Lenin and the Soviet system, which caused a lot of trouble for its author.

The name Sharik is also the Russian equivalent of Rover or Spot, with many Russian children naming their puppies Sharik. Shar means ball, and Sharik means little ball (like a little ball of fur).

Side note: In case you're wondering, no, I'm not Russian. I'm American (Scotch/Flemish Belgian background mostly), but I love everything Russian (and all Eastern European, particularly the former Yugoslavia). I did one of my undergrad degrees in Russian lang and lit (the other is journalism), and did much of my Master's work (anthropology) focusing upon the (now former) Soviet Central Asian republics (Uzbekistan, etc.) that few Westerners had ever heard of until after September 11. I spent time studying at Leningrad State University (LGU) during the height of the Cold War (1982). Now that Leningrad is no longer called that, LGU is Saint Petersburg State University. Living in the Soviet Union as an American student was one of the most precious experiences of my life. I absolutely LOVED IT! (Thanks to the warm and wonderful people of Leningrad, and my old friends of Tallin, Estonia, Viktor and Vadim! I also had a cat named Volodya, whom I adopted to a Russian family when I left.)

So Sharik was excited when I walked in with a tiny black kitten. I put Dmitri down to introduce them, Sharik's tail wagging, and Dmitri arched his little back and hissed and spit at her, nearly breaking her heart. But she stalked off, as if to say "The heck with you."

An hour later, Sharik was lying under the kitchen table, her tail thumping and wagging. Dmitri happened to be still exploring everything and spotted that fluffy golden tail. He pounced, not realizing it was attached to that big dog. He attacked the tail, while Sharik thumped, and ended up riding it. It reminded me of an old Buddy Hacket movie called "No Fires Please" where Hacket gets stuck on a fire hose and rides the hose as it goes out of control.

Sharik allowed that kitten to play with her tail for a while, then turned her head back to let him know that his new toy was actually a dog tail. Harumph.

Dmitri had a look of horror that lasted a few seconds, but then he said "Okay, what the heck!" And continued playing with the tail.

From that point on, they were best friends. Dmitri would attack Sharik and they would play and roll around together, until Dmitri's little kitten teeth started to hurt...and Sharik would roll over on top of him and smash him. I'd hear "mrrrrrmph, mrrrrmph," and Sharik would roll back over, freeing the kitten. Then they'd play some more. When both were exhausted, Dmitri would climb over Sharik, nuzzle against her belly, and begin to nurse. (Sharik was spayed and never had pups.) Dmitri was her little baby. She would carry him in her mouth sometimes, and my grandmother thought for sure Sharik would swallow Dmitri whole. But I always knew that Dmitri was completely safe with Sharik....she would have done anything to protect her baby.

And it was like that until Sharik died of cancer in 1995. Sharik and Dmitri played and played, then cuddled up to sleep. They took turns grooming one another, and when they played outside in the yard and other animals visited, Dmitri always strutted around, knowing he was safe with Sharik. Sharik seemed to have placed an invisible bubble around Dmitri (she did this with a friend's toddler as well), and other animals were allowed to roam outside that boundary, but if they stepped inside, Sharik immediately bared her teeth and made them back off.

So Dmitri has always enjoyed other animals, neighbor dogs and cats, but particularly dogs. He just loves dogs. When he visits the vet, dogs like to walk over and check him out, but the humans always expect a fight. I say "No, he loves all dogs," and then he gives them a hello head butt from my lap. It always surprises people to see how unafraid - and friendly - he is with dogs.

I credit Sharik with a lot of Dmitri's laid-back attitude around other animals. She was the most wonderful dog in the world, and I miss her terribly.

Sharik was also a cover girl, appearing with me on the cover of Woman's Day when I had written an article for them. (I'll scan that when I can find a copy of the magazine in one of my boxes.)

Sharik loved to swim, and my favorite thing was to walk to Cedar Lake with her, and let her swim.

Alex was buried out in the woods next to a tree, and Sharik knew he was there. When we would go into the woods to hike, we would go to Alex's tree for a moment, and Sharik would immediately sit down quietly. She seemed to know that it was Alex's spot. When Sharik died, I buried her near Alex, under one of the beautiful dogwood trees that fill Shawnee National Forest.

The pictures of Sharik at the ocean are during a trip I took to the gulf coast in Alabama a year or two before she died. I rented a beach house. Being a Midwestern dog, she had never seen the ocean before, and immediately tried to take a drink. LOL. Not good. But she took to the ocean and loved to swim. She also enjoyed running up and down the beach, chasing the birds. This wasn't far from where those horrible shark attacks occurred, so I'm glad she wasn't eaten by a shark. (and people often think her name was Shark, not Sharik.)


Running on the beach...


Playing in the waves...


Intrigued by a dead jellyfish.


Here's the jellyfish, which is a fascinating thing to someone from the Midwest.


A black and white photo of Sharik with her Easter chicken.


Sharik after she'd found a mudhole.