Our Iris Angel

(Note:  This is part one.  The story of Ginger is part two of my canine recollection series. The link to it is.  https://wp.me/s9SpN1-ginger )

I have always loved the canine species.  My father also was an admirer, and dog owner, for all of his life, and he raised me and my sister with dogs throughout our childhood years.  My mother and father usually were the most responsible party, when it came to care and maintenance of our dog family members, though Pam and I would assist with feeding and exercise.  Yet when I hit adulthood, I just never could find the time or inclination to  bring a dog into my life.  That all changed in 2001, when at the age of 45 years, a mystery dog came into my wife Sharon’s, and my life.

A beautiful white German Shepherd pup materialized, literally out of the wilderness, in January of 2001. My sister and a US Forest Service ranger had found her, and her mother, abandoned or lost and wandering through the Clackamas Wilderness area. It is unknown how long they had been lost, though the puppy was near ten months old. Her mother was elusive, and escaped both my sister’s and the ranger’s grasp, yet this puppy decided that hanging around with humans was probably a better option for her.

My sister already had two dogs, and had no need for another, so she offered this beautiful animal for our stewardship.  Both Sharon and I were quite resistant initially, as we both had careers, which dominated our Monday through Friday work week time.  Pam brought the girl down to our home, and this dog immediately made herself at home in our house on her first visit.  When Pam left, she took the dog with her, but I could see that this being really wanted to stay with us.  My heart strings were already being tugged on quite strongly, and I found a new openness to having a new family member.

I was in training for the Las Vegas Marathon at the time, so we were preparing to travel to Nevada, so I let me sister know that she would have to keep possession for another week.  Pam wanted me to give the animal a name, as she had no tag or collar on her when she found her, and had no idea what her name was.  I thought a bit, and then the light when on.  Sharon has always loved the iris flower, and she had brought her love of its structure and fragrance to me.  I just knew I needed to name our new girl Iris, knowing that we both had deep roots into our loving spirit with that name. 

Iris took an immediate liking to her name.  Iris was a very skinny youngster when we took possession of her. She immediately took a liking to us and to our home. Right off the bat, I could tell that this dog was a special being. She was extremely well mannered, gentle, curious, and boy, what an athlete she was! One time we were walking along Clackamas Road near our home, and Iris spotted a squirrel running up a tree. Iris broke free, and jumped up high enough into the tree to get about seven feet off of the ground. That squirrel barely escaped her leaping grasp, which placed Iris in a fork of the main trunk of the tree. She was to fall out of the tree into the brush below, unharmed. I think that while she wandered the wilderness with her mother, she learned to be a small critter hunter just to keep alive, and she definitely had the physical skill package to keep eating. .She had an amazingly graceful stride, and when she decided to run, it brought the greatest joy, and a thrill, to me as I witnessed one of nature’s greatest athletes in motion.

Iris’s second set of family became my sister and her now deceased husband, Larry. But, Iris spent the vast majority of her time with us. She was our constant companion on hiking adventures, and Iris was a true outdoors friend. She hiked a multitude of Oregon Coast, Mt. Adams, Mt Hood and Mt. St. Helens trails, as well as numerous Columbia River Gorge trails. She also graced the trails of Northern California, where she enjoyed the Redwoods as much, or more so, than we did. Whenever she would encounter wild life along the trail, such as a Roosevelt Elk, she would briefly chase it, and then immediately return back to us, to make sure that we were OK.  She would lead all hikers on trails, running far out in advance to scout the trail, and make sure that it was safe for us. She would always return back to us to encourage us further, or to prevent us for progressing whenever she sensed danger. If we hiked twelve miles, she hiked, and ran, at least twenty miles during the hike. At least two times she prevented Sharon from heading off of the trail in dangerous directions, so she was our outdoor adventure protector, and angel.

I was quite the runner in those days, as well, logging at least six to ten miles a day during my training periods. I would take Iris with me, and on major stretches I would unleash the beautiful girl, and let her run free. She moved with a fluid grace like I had never seen in any animal before, or since. I would sprint ahead sometimes, and she would zoom past me, and look back, as if to goad me to run even faster. When I engaged my own fastest speeds, she would flow along beside me, running with a shared joy, and then speed off ahead of me, and not stop until I slowed down, or changed directions. My heart literally soared with her, even when my body could not quite keep up with her. 

She had an unusual fear of running water, and would not cross over streams on her own.  One time while we were hiking around Mount Hood, we needed to fjord a fast running snow melt creek.  Iris would not walk across it, yet she walked back and forth, up and down the creek, until she found a perfect launch point, then she literally exploded off of her feet into the air, with a long distance jump of at least thirteen feet to cross the roaring stream! Another time she went hiking on the Timberline trail with Sharon and June, and refused to cross the south fork of the Muddy River, and they had to bring their several day hiking  adventure to an end, without finishing the 40 mile trail. Sharon and June tried to carry her, put a T-shirt on her to lift her, yet she was not going to fjord the river.

She slept next to our bed at night on a big, comfortable dog cushion. She never bothered us as we slept, while being a perfect companion for us at home during all  other times. She was a most gracious canine hostess for all that visited us, and she was friendly with all domesticated animals, including our grandson’s cat who came to stay with us for a week. She would offer her body as a pillow whenever our grandsons visited, and needed to take a nap on our couch.

One of Iris’s classic poses

On one of our many hikes.   Iris was the greatest hiker ever.

We just finished a run together!

I loved Iris as much as any parent could love their own child. I did not have any children, and my grandchildren through my wife Sharon were physically unavailable to me, so Iris was my surrogate daughter. I was so proud of her, while she became the very manifestation of God’s love for me over the years that I was to be her steward and friend.

Dad and Rocky, Kerr Island 2015

In 2005, my father brought home another dog, a beautiful Husky puppy named Rocky, to replace his recently deceased Samoyed dog Peaches. Iris and Rocky became fast friends, and it was obvious that they enjoyed their time together in the home, and out hiking together wherever we went when we took our father with us. Rocky tended towards over exuberance, and Iris would occasionally give Rocky a lesson in manners, a lesson that my father was unwilling to deliver. But Rocky and Iris became good friends to each other,

Those two trees almost cost me much more than just $45,000 in home repairs.

In April of 2007, two cottonwood trees along Kellogg Creek fell across the the middle of our home, causing immense damage.  A team of arborists came with their man lift to try to remove the tree wreckage from our home.  The two cottonwood trees were of substantial size, and had created two impact troughs in the roof of our home, with the damage estimate near $45,000.  I walked into the home to retrieve some personal items, while the two men continued their overhead work.  Iris accompanied me as I walked into the living room, attempting to get to the back of the home where our bedroom was.  All of a sudden Iris started barking furiously, and backed away from me.  Strange, I thought, what in the heck is going on with Iris?  I had never seen her do that before.  I turned around, and walked two steps towards her.  Right then, the arborist lost his load, and a six foot length of tree trunk weighing two hundred pounds fell through the roof, RIGHT WHERE I HAD JUST BEEN STANDING.  In forty years of arborist work, the professional had never lost a load, or caused an injury.  Iris had saved my life, as that log would have pile driven me into the floor, and left me with not much of a skull left.

On December 1, 2007, at 3:45 in the morning, Sharon and I awoke to a piercing cry beside our bed. I rushed down to iris’s side, and held her as she died. I asked Sharon if I should try to resuscitate, but Sharon said it appeared beyond our ability to bring her back, and we had to let her die in our arms. We were heartbroken and devastated, and we both then knew a loss that equaled any that I had ever experienced in my life. Our Spirit Dog had left us, and life would never be the same.

I felt a crushing guilt at the loss of our treasured love. I had relapsed earlier in the year, and had become addicted to Oxycontin, which I initially needed to treat myself for a broken leg. The leg finally healed, but my addictions had not. In my diseased, opiate hijacked brain, I created a story that my beloved canine companion, a true Angel of Love from God, had to leave me because of my spiritual corruption. My recently over-opiated addled brain could not decipher the real gift of her beautiful presence in our lives until a time later, when healing could resume again within my heart.

One year later, to the very second, Rocky woke up, and howled for one minute at my father’s home.. According to my father, Rocky had never done that before, and never did it again up until his own death in our home on June 23, 2016.

Dogs, and friends, just do not get any better than Iris.  I still miss her.

Obituary:  Iris White Paullin (5/1/1999-12/1/2007)

Beloved friend and doggie-daughter of Sharon White and Bruce Paullin

She was friend to  all that she met on her own unique road of life.

She was filled with puppy energy all of the days of her life.

She brought her joy and love to all.

She was highly sensitive and intelligent, and had a seeming miraculous ability to read our body language, and our thoughts.

Her sensitivity to the world provided extra benefit to us, through several potentially life saving interventions on her part, both on the wilderness trail, and within the home.

Peace and love were built into her very nature, and her sane and spiritual presence brought order into our often times chaotic lives.

When we returned home at night after a long day at work, or when we were preparing to leave, yet again, for work the next morning, she was always there to greet us with a kiss.

Iris died on December 1, 2007 at 3:45 in the morning, after waking from her sleep to let out a heart breaking scream of death.

Her cause of death was a heart arrhythmia, which has infrequently happened to other members of her breed.

It has been documented that this form of death is known to occur during the deep, REM sleep periods.

We are grateful that fate chose her death while we were both at home, and while she slept on her own bed next to us in our bedroom.  We shared in her life, and in her death.

She is still remembered by all who knew her, even neighbors who witnessed us taking her on her daily walks and runs through the neighborhood.

It is the time that we devote to the ones that we love that affirms their importance, and their eternal presence in our lives.

Thanks to all who shared in our beloved friend’s life!

Yet another angel has found her wings.

The Boy and His Dog, by Sharon White

Running through the fields

Bounding over logs,

Stretched out

Flowing gracefully

Or chasing rabbits and squirrels

Our White Iris streaked into our house

And planted herself in our hearts

Bringing joy, intelligence, compassion, and sanity

Offering and receiving Love unconditionally

She weaved her way 

Into the fabric of our being.

How very wonderful

To watch you throwing your toy frog or ball into the air

To hear you communicating with us in your howling language

To taste your hair in our mouths after cuddling with you.

To touch your beautiful white fur

To smell your doggie breath!

How very sad and devastatingly lonely

To have you ripped away from us so suddenly

To hear that piercing death cry.

And to watch for the return of breath which did not happen.

And to touch that beautiful body as the warmth faded.

And to witness the lifeless shell of most loving of friends.

But how very wonderful,

To see you with our hearts,

To feel your presence at our feet,

To have all of these wonderful images of you.

Bouncing the ball, excitedly catching it!

Wrestling with your master, scrunching between his legs.

Walking with your mistress,

Talking with your pack in your own inimitable way.

How devastatingly wonderful-

THIS BOY AND HIS DOG.

Thank you, Iris,

Thank you, Bruce,

Thank you, Sharon.

Jasper Tackles The Iris Story

I’ve always had a profound affinity for dogs. Growing up, they were woven into the rhythm of family life, with our parents ensuring these loyal companions were always well-cared for. Yet, as I transitioned into adulthood, life’s demands and distractions prevented me from bringing a dog into my own home. That all changed in 2001, when a remarkable being named Iris entered my life and forever altered its course.

Iris wasn’t just any dog. She was an ethereal presence, a luminous white German Shepherd who emerged, almost mythologically, from the Clackamas Wilderness. Discovered by my sister and a Forest Ranger, she and her mother had been wandering the rugged terrain, survivors in every sense of the word. While her mother eluded capture, Iris chose a different path. At ten months old, she approached the humans who found her with a blend of curiosity and trust, as if guided by some higher wisdom that knew her destiny was entwined with ours.

When my sister brought Iris to visit us, I was hesitant. My wife Sharon and I both had full-time careers that left little room for the responsibilities a dog demands. But Iris had other plans. From the very first visit, she moved through our home not as a guest but as though she had finally arrived where she was meant to be. Her calm, knowing demeanor tugged fiercely at my heart. She belonged with us—I felt it deeply. That night, when she left with my sister, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The sense of connection was immediate and profound.

Naming her “Iris” felt like destiny, both for her striking beauty and for a shared love that Sharon and I had for the flower of the same name. The name carried weight, symbolic of hope and renewal, emotions that would come to define our relationship with her.

From the moment she joined our family, Iris proved she was no ordinary companion. A superb athlete, she moved with unparalleled grace, her agility a testament to her time surviving in the wild. On one memorable day, she leapt nearly seven feet into a tree to chase a squirrel, her survival instincts honed to perfection during her formative time in the wilderness. But her physical prowess was equaled only by her gentle, sensitive spirit. Whether bounding ahead on a trail or curling up by our feet at home, she existed as both the protector and the nurturer.

Our adventures together remain some of the most cherished memories of my life. Iris was an adventurer at heart, joining us on hikes through the Oregon Coast, the Columbia River Gorge, and even the towering California Redwoods. There was a quiet magic in the way she led our hikes, scouting ahead and returning to ensure our safety. Her innate protectiveness revealed itself most poignantly during these wilderness journeys. She seemed to understand the balance between nature’s beauty and its dangers, once even preventing Sharon from unknowingly heading into a precarious area. Iris was far more than a companion; she was a guardian, steadfast and intuitive.

Her loyalty wasn’t limited to outdoor excursions. At home, she nestled into our lives, providing comfort and joy. She had an impeccable ability to understand human emotions, responding with an almost miraculous sensitivity. She slept serenely beside our bed, always present and always offering the kind of companionship that only a dog like Iris could. She welcomed strangers, befriended other animals, and cared for our grandsons as though they were her pack. She was everything one could hope for in a friend, a family member, and a cherished soul.

Iris also had a mysterious, almost otherworldly quality to her. This was never clearer than the day she saved my life. During an incident at home when fallen trees threatened to collapse our roof, Iris barked frantically, signaling me to step away just moments before a massive section of a tree came crashing down where I had been standing. Her timing, her instinct, was nothing short of miraculous. It was as if she embodied some divine connection, always watching over us with a vigilance that went far beyond mere loyalty.

When we lost her in December of 2007, my grief was overwhelming. She passed unexpectedly next to our bed in the early morning hours, with Sharon and me by her side. The piercing cry that marked her departure is forever etched in my soul, a sound that encapsulated the profundity of goodbye. I held her as she took her final breath, heartbroken, and yet grateful that we were there for her in her last moments, just as she had been for us countless times before.

Her departure left a void that was both immense and unbearable, and I carried with me a crushing guilt. I blamed my struggles with addiction, my human frailty, for her passing. It took time, healing, and reflection to see the truth—that Iris, in her infinite love and grace, had given us gifts that far outweighed the sorrow of her loss.

Even in her absence, she continued to touch our lives. Exactly one year to the moment of her death, Rocky, my father’s dog and Iris’s dear friend, howled mournfully in the night. It was a poignant reminder that love and connection extend far beyond physical presence.

Iris was not just a dog; she was an angel in every sense of the word. She brought order to chaos, light to our darkest moments, and an unshakable reminder of what unconditional love truly means. Losing her was one of the deepest heartaches I’ve known, but her spirit lingers in the fabric of my being and the lives of all who knew her.

She was, and will always be, more than just a companion. She was family, protector, savior, and joy wrapped into one incredible being. To this day, I miss her deeply, but I carry her spirit with me, knowing that she was a manifestation of the best of what life and love have to offer.