Freya the fluffy white dog

Whenever I walk by the doggie play pen in Madison Square Park, my eyes linger for a while. 

I watch a terrier and a pit mix tumble. A Husky and a Lab with two mouths open. Doodles, and more doodles. Play stances, an assortment of barks, and a 50 pound wide-eyed Australian Shepherd running in aimless circles with a 2 inch chain of slobber hanging off the side of his mouth. 

Afterwards comes a pang of nostalgia. I’ll see a furry black & white face in the window of the Subway car, not unlike Elizabeth Bennett imagining Mr. Darcy’s face looming beside her as her heart begins to soften in the original 6 part series of Pride and Prejudice that came out in the 90’s. 

My first encounter with the Great Pyrenees breed was when I was at a brunch in Indiana. He was Harry. I tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but I couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he’d stand on his hind legs and prop his enormous paws on the kitchen island, so that he could steal a bite off the buffet. “Harry, down!” The host yelled. In the middle of the meal I felt his large head in my lap, trying to butter me up so I’d share. I watched our host lay him down for a brushing, as big pillowy globs of fur melted off his body. When we migrated to the couches to drink coffee, he sat on me, totally enveloping me in puppy. I was hooked. I promised myself I’d get a Pyrenees one day.

A few months later, I got a call from my stepmother,“Your dad really misses Dobby (my childhood border collie mix) I’m gonna surprise him with a puppy for his birthday.” She found a farmer in Riverside who rescued a pregnant Pyrenees from a puppy mill, her litter was ready to be adopted. 

After they visited, my dad told me about the moment he knew which one he’d take home. It was the puppy that looked him in the eye. “We’re gonna call her Freya” he said, which would later eventually evolve into Freya girl, Freyaaaaaa, Floofy Bear, Floofyyyyyyy, sweetheart, sleepy bear, hungry girl, cozy bear, and Freya bear.

I came to his house in November of 2020, masked and excited to meet the new addition.  

All of a sudden a foot long white blob emerged from the back door. Her baby fur was so frizzed it was like she had been released from the dryer, she looked at me and whimpered then she ran right into my arms, and gave me plenty of puppy kisses. 

When I ended a relationship a month later, I decided to stay with my dad and stepmother for a little while. The house had limited space so they fashioned a room out of dividers off of a side nook in the kitchen, I slept on an ikea couch that converts into a bed. 

I lived there for a year, and Freya got bigger, and bigger. 

Everyone in the house had to sneak out the side door if they wanted to leave, because Freya would lose it if she saw. Freya’s a guard dog, she loves her people as fiercely as she protects them. When we’d return home, we’d hear a big SLAM! on the sliding door from Freya’s massive paw, she couldn’t wait 30 more seconds to say hello. Excitement would light up her insides and seep out of every corner of her body, she’d run all around the room bumping into walls, flat tire our heels with her paw, lift up a stuffy and throw it back down again, wiggle her butt, bite her brother, lay down, then spring back up again.

She covers us in mud and slobber, she’s eaten new shoes, dirty underwear, and furniture, she mutilated the lawn, barks before sunrise, growls at visitors, infuriates the neighbors, cancels plans, and kills the dream of ever wearing black clothes in public. Freya is stubborn, I popped a muscle from carrying her back to the car, she gave me a black eye when she pawed my face, one Christmas my dad dislocated his shoulder because she took him down trying to chase a squirrel on a rainy walk. 

She eventually grew to 140 pounds, she’s inconvenient as hell, and she still looks you right in the eye. 

We’d go on neighborhood night walks to the park, I’d listen to Mason Jennings, lay my head on her belly and look up at the stars for a little while. I’d sigh and ask the bigness of the sky if I’d ever get myself back.

We’d go to the ocean too. We’d walk and I wondered when this numb would lift. Freya loved to stop in the middle of walks, because I was powerless to her gravitational pull. I'd sit down and put my arm around her and we’d watch people, other dogs, the waves crashing on the walks, and one lucky day, a whale taking a breath. 

That was a time when I didn’t know where forward was, and many nights, I couldn’t sleep. I’d take my bean bag and sit on the pavement next to her. I’d take her head in my hands and stroke her face, while she took satisfied sleepy grunts. She’d even put a paw on my leg to keep me from getting up. 

One spring day, after I got a place of my own, I met up with my dad for a hike. Spring was starting in Temecula, CA. The hills were blooming with wildflowers after a week of heavy rain. The sky was bright with grays, blues, and shimmers of sun. We'd just finished our second course of vaccines, the world was opening up, I was beginning to dust off the strangeness of 2021, and my cheeks were getting their color back.

My dad and Freya were waiting at the top of that hill, I parked and got out of my car, and I saw the thump thump thump of Freya wagging that tail. Dad let her off the leash, and Freya RAN, she barreled and slid, her hair streaming in the wind, she had a big goofy smile. My body filled with warm warmth rising, I opened my arms wide and yelled “FREYAAAAA!” I was makeup-free, muddy, big, and loud.

She slammed into me, I hugged her tight, she slathered me with more mud and looked me in the eye. 

That year was a journey back to myself, I think Freya was holding the lantern ahead on that path. She saw me, she helped me see too.

And when I hear the word “love” I think of  warm warmth rising while covered in mud, with arms wide open, waiting for Freya girl to run down that hill.