2004ish – 11Mar2021

Mason “Space Bear” Wheeler. A pup like none other. A pup by many names, many of which characterized his unique personality at different times in his long life. He may have been a man from space, trapped in a bear dog’s body.

Jennie and I (Joel) adopted Mason from North Country Animal League in Morristown, VT in September of 2005, where they told us he was approximately 14 months of age. He’d been living with an older couple of women in foster care because he was a bit too sensitive to be at the animal shelter without some supervision. We were told he came from a dog hoarder in the southern US and was abused and neglected. It was pretty apparent. He was terrified. He hid behind the two women and looked about like if he could just disappear from everyone’s eyes that’s the route he would like to take. His white chest hair was a dingy yellowish. I’ll be honest, I was a bit skeptical… I think we both were. But he seemed like a sweet dog and so we took a chance on this guy.

We had adopted our other dog Jack a month or two earlier and he was pretty high energy, so we thought it would be great for him to have a playmate. Well, I’m not quite so sure that worked out as planned. While Jack and Mason did get to be best buds over the years, they weren’t exactly playmates. Pretty much every aspect of their personalities were polar opposites. Jack is high energy, outgoing, bold, in your face, all play with my toys!. Mason was more of a “why is everyone looking at me?”, chill, peaceful and cerebral type. But if you had those two out in the open they’d run for days in their youth. Running way up ahead, back, ahead again, running forever. They loved the outdoors.

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After our initial meet-and-greet we talked it over and assembled all the necessary documentation, fees, etc. I drove back to pick up our new addition to the Wheeler family. I had Jen’s Honda Element and Mason was absolutely terrified. He moved all the way to the back of the truck and wedged himself into the corner along the floor and the rear door. I don’t think he could have wedged any tighter. If he could have turned himself into a liquid he would have poured himself into that crack.

We got home, I pulled into the fenced-in backyard, and he hopped out of the truck. He immediately ran over behind our shed where there was about an 8″ gap between the shed and the rear fence and wedged himself in there. I honestly didn’t think we’d be able to get him out. With a bit of unfriendly pulling we finally unwedged him and screwed a piece of fencing over that gap so as not to repeat that bit of fun.

We didn’t have them in crates then and they had free reign downstairs. The next day we heard the pups up and moving around. Jen got up, and I said “be sure to let them right outside.” She replied with a “yeah whatever” sort of response, which seemed somewhat fitting as I wasn’t getting up myself. A few minutes later I heard a “No.. NO!!” and a loud thud, followed by some crying. I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. Jen was standing there with tears in her eyes and blood on her lip. I could see some brown mess on her shirt, which was just a preview of what was to come as I rounded the corner.

Around the corner, there was shit everywhere. It was on Jen and smeared across the floor. Instead of letting the dogs right out (as I had so wisefully directed) she decided that she would just take a minute to make some coffee first. The dogs then shit on the floor which she stepped in. Then the dogs chased each other round and round it with the leash dragging thru it, turning our hardwood floor into a poop slip-and-slide. Jen tried to grab the leash, slipped and fell in the process. I erupted uncontrollably in laughter. Yes, that is what happened. Yes, I’m a jerk. I couldn’t help but laugh! Finally Jen laughed a bit too. Today, we still laugh about it 🙂

He was a strange dog. Most dogs want to please their owners. For the most part, he wanted nothing to do with me. He warmed up to Jen much more quickly but he didn’t care much for men, especially men with beards – which applied to me. We used to have to keep him on a leash around the house to force him to have contact with us. Otherwise he would just wedge himself in between the wall and the end of the couch.

But his people-recognition skills were crazy. Some people he would meet (well, more like smell, I guess) and immediately they were OK in his book. He’d meet some strangers to him that I’m pretty sure he liked more than me. Other people he might even growl at. And if you were on his dislike or like list, he wouldn’t forget. You might not see him for months but then when you did, he remembered you. And continued liking (or disliking) you just as much as the last time he saw you. But he was never aggressive or anything like that. He’d just let you know where you stood. Worse case he’d skulk around and give you dirty looks. We used to joke that he was using his powers of mental telepathy and/or telekinesis on people (which, despite years of practice, he was never able to apply to opening a door successfully).

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He warmed quickly to Jennie but not so much to me. My initial goal was to just get him out for a walk. I put treats all down the front steps just to try and get him outside with me. It took many attempts to get this to happen. I’ll never forget out first walk together. I took him to a little park down on Pearl Street in Essex Junction. It was actually going rather well. We were walking along together through some paths in the woods and I was feeling good about finally getting some time with the pup. But, at some point, he just decided he’d had enough. We walked over a little bridge and he pulled himself down into the bottom of the divide and crouched down and refused to go any farther with me. We were about a 1/4 mile from the car, and I had to pick him up and carry him all the way back to the car. He was probably 35ish lbs at the time. That’s a long way to walk with a dead weight dog! People were walking by and giving me looks like “WTF?!? Is that guy CARRYING his dog?“

As I mentioned before, he wasn’t very dog like. He didn’t care much about pleasing me. That was fine. He was very well behaved and I enjoyed his individualistic sort of personality. He didn’t really play with other dogs much, didn’t like dog toys, didn’t play fetch… really nothing that just about all dogs enjoy doing. He also never swam. I tried and tried to get him to swim but he wouldn’t have it. He did enjoy wading into the water up to his chest to cool off, but that was about the best you could get.

I remember one trip when Jen and I were vacationing- maybe in Maine- we were on the water and there was a little dock there. The water was very calm, no waves or anything. We walked out to the end of the dock and Mason followed us out there. At the end of the dock he just crouched right down like he was going to hop in the water. I thought to myself “Oh my god! He’s going to do it! He’s going for a swim! Just like that, he’s GOING IN!!” And, believe it or not, he did go right in! Unfortunately, I’m not sure that he made the mental decision to go swimming that day. I think the water was so calm and dark he didn’t even realize it was water. He hopped down like he might be hopping onto the ground, and there was a big SPLOOSH, and a lot of bubbles, and then he just sank like a stone out of sight.

Oh boy, thinking about it now, it makes me laugh. At the time, it was terrifying. I stood there momentarily wondering what to do. It was probably only a couple of seconds but I had a lot of thoughts in that time. FINALLY he came bobbing up to the surface. It was pretty horrible. But, in retrospect, pretty funny. I mean, he survived it, so I think it’s OK to joke about it now. He’d probably give me one of his dirty looks and one of his typical disapproving “FROOF!”s like he always liked to give at the most fitting times.

He had quite a variety of froofs. He’d blow air out and make a funny “frrroOOFF” sound. Sometimes it was high, like “leave ME ALONE!”, sometimes it was low, like “boy, that was dumb. because you’re dumb, dad.” The older he got the more he perfected it. He could really insult you if he wanted to. Or he could reward you. I guess you might say he had us pretty well trained over the years.

I might be making it sound like he never got along with me. That’s not exactly true. Over the years we bonded more and more. He was always a bit… distrustful. Not sure if that’s quite the right word. But, even after 15+ years together, he still never like going on a walk with me. That’s OK. We knew each other’s shortcomings and I didn’t push him.

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He loved his mom to death. If mom was along for the walk then a walk was well in order! Froof! When he wouldn’t cooperate with me she’d always help out and he’d do just about anything she asked.

We all adapted and had our perfect happy little dog family. He and Jack would lounge around over the years and loved to cuddle and pile on top of each other. They didn’t necessarily “play” much together but I know their presence gave each other comfort and they felt more secure as a pair of brothers in whatever we were doing.

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He used to sit up on his back legs. He just started doing it randomly one day. He could even stand and walk around a bit. He was incredibly acrobatic. At some point we start calling him the “bear,” or several of our deviations of that name. I’m not sure if it was because he stood like a circus bear, or because the vet told us one time that he was shaped a bit like a “barrel” (so we also called him “Barrel-Shaped Bear”) but I’m pretty sure it was the circus bear comparison. He had a LOT of nicknames. I’ll put some up at the end of this. I’m sure I’ll have missed some permutations.

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We liked to joke that we should have gotten him a job in the Quality Assurance field. Whatever you did or built for him he managed to find its faults. In his later years he was having trouble with the steps at camp so I built out this large platform to get up onto before going into the camp instead of the little stair that we had previously. On the edge of the platform I put several concrete blocks for him to step on, up to the platform. That dog would stubbornly refuse to use those steps, every time. He might try and hop up there and fall down, over and over again. He’d shake it off, froof loudly in disgust, and then storm off around the house embarrassed that he couldn’t make it up. Then he’d come back and do it all over again. You could stand there over and over directing him to the steps and he just had to do things his way – the hard way. That’s how it went with the Bear.

I could go on and on- endless stories and adventures throughout the years. There are so many good memories with our pup. For over 15 years he has been a part of our weird family. I’m pretty sure he had the best possible doggy life he could have had with us and we’re so grateful for our time together. He was the softest, sweetest, most gentle dog I’ve ever know. He will be missed.

Love you buddy. Froof on.

Just a sampling of some of the crazy names for the old Mason dog over the years (in no particular order):

• Bear Chowski
• Bearon (Baron?) Von Froofstein
• Bearon Von Froofchowsen
• Bearon Vaughn
• Mace
• Macy
• Bear
• Fat Bear
• Fatty Beats
• Beary Beats
• Bear Man
• Bear Boy
• Barrel-Shaped Bear
• Mollis
• Bear Mollis
• Space Mollis
• Spaceman
• Space Pup
• Space Bear