Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we find a teacher who makes a difference to our lives. Other times, these teachers somehow seem to find us.

As many of you know, almost six years ago, a stray Siberian husky, who looked more wolf than dog, literally arrived at the doorstep of our cottage one summer weekend. By our neighbor’s account, she had been there earlier in the day but our other husky chased her away. Later in the afternoon, a good Samaritan found the stray wandering on the highway, and for reasons still unclear, promptly plopped the dog in her car and drove her to us.

So it was that we ended up with Shayla, the canine who was to stretch my knowledge and open my mind to wonderful new possibilities. Her shaky health gave us the inspiration to delve headfirst into the world of magazine publishing, as we seek, through Animal Wellness, to help educate others about the miraculous results of better nutrition and integrative therapies. Through it all, Shayla showed the infinite patience and stoicism of a Buddhist monk. And, although she was the least “domesticated” canine I’ve ever known, she firmly planted herself in our lives, a distant yet attached family member.

In all the time she lived with us, I never heard her bark, vocalize or whine as our other husky does. But her silence was deafening. She could communicate with a stare, looking right through you until your inner self couldn’t help but hear the message.

At the end, her body and mind couldn’t keep up to her brave spirit, and when the kind and compassionate vet came to help her pass, she accepted this with the same quiet demeanor, knowing that peace was close at hand.

For days after, whenever I thought about her, I saw her not as the crippled invalid but as the noble soul she was, standing proudly while the wind played in her fur. I drew much comfort from that vision. When I went to pick up her ashes two weeks later, my mind was elsewhere; preoccupied with pressing deadlines and family commitments. The receptionist handed me the burgundy box, which I took out to the car. Then it hit me like a two-by-four – my precious teacher, the one who taught me first-hand about compassion and patience, was gone. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sat in the parking lot holding what was left of this mysterious being. But even then I felt her presence. She came to me like she never had in real life, boisterously licking my face like a puppy in an attempt to make me feel better. I haven’t felt her presence since. I can’t really explain what happened; I can only describe it. And maybe it was just wishful thinking, but I prefer to think that my teacher was imparting one last lesson – how to say good-bye.

In this issue, we continue to pay tribute to a great teacher by bringing you more important articles on nutrition, vaccination and other health issues. And we invite you to celebrate your companion by entering our 3rd Annual Amazing Animals photo contest. For all the details, see page 79. And in the meantime, give your companion a hug. You’ll both feel better for it!

Warmest wishes,

Dana