After Juno’s passing, I reached out to the kind heart whose Kijiji ad led me to her. She had met Juno, originally named Qimmiq (like the Inuit breed, which also means “dog” in Inuktitut), at the shelter in Nunavut, where she was brought after being found alone in the snow. She fostered her on Baffin Island, where Juno was born, before eventually bringing her to British Columbia. Qimmiq’s story, typed into a ‘Inuit sled dog cross looking for a good home’ ad, became the final link in a beautiful chain of events that gave me the most wholesome years of my life. I am forever grateful to her.
In response to my message, she shared this first photo with me—Juno at just a few weeks old, taken a month before we met, standing before the mountains of the Arctic island where her life began. It feels only fitting that I was able to give her the life she was destined for, one filled with open spaces to roam and to grow. To become Juno.
In honour of a life well-lived, here is a photo for each of her years. From orphaned pup to Queen of the North. Her life in full. A lifetime of Juno.
Her name still echoes in the silence she left behind. It lingers like her scent after the snow—cold and fresh, like winter air clinging to her memory. The smell of her after a walk through the white landscapes, snowflakes melting into her coat, carrying with them the crispness of our favourite places. The scent of home, wild and free. Her absence is a weight I carry in places I didn’t know existed.
Qimmiq at just a few weeks old after being found orphaned in the snow, taken by her foster family a month before we met, standing before the mountains of Baffin Island, Nunavut, where her life began. It feels only fitting that I was able to give her the life she was destined for, one filled with open spaces to roam and to grow. To become Juno.
I think of the wilderness and how she belonged there. The way she pranced through open spaces, happy and free. I see her still—leading the way along narrow trails, disappearing into alpine meadows, wading through glacial streams. She would pause at waterfalls, ears pricked, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. I remember her running along sandy beaches, climbing ridgelines where the islands dot the ocean below and the mountains touch the sky. She was always just ahead, chasing scents, keeping the bears at a distance. She gave the wild a shape, a softness, a sense of home. Our home.
Juno carried the quiet strength of the North. She moved with the patience of a living creature who had seen the fragility of life and decided to take her time with it. I learned from her: how to be still, how to breathe, how to listen, how to notice, how to be.
Sometimes I wondered if she was part wolf; her sharp gaze and stance hinted at something wild and untamed. She would pause on ridgelines, wind lifting her fur, and in those moments, I wondered if the mountains whispered to her to run free with the wolves. Who knows—maybe she was part of them. She belonged there—wild and free—as much a part of the mountains as the snow that blanketed them each winter.
Sixteen years…
How do you hold sixteen years in your hands when there is nothing left to touch? How do you gather the memories without them spilling through your fingers?
I miss the sound of her breath beside me in the dark. The comfort of her presence in the distance. The way she would lovingly argue with me, stubborn and full of personality, just to have the last word—as if winning our little debates was part of the bond we shared. I miss the way she would pause on the trail, looking back to make sure I was still there—always waiting, always watching, as if she knew we were meant to move through the world together. Her gaze—steady, knowing, loving. As if she understood everything I never said.
I still wake early sometimes, expecting her gentle howl. The stretch, the sigh when I greeted her each morning. The happy wag of her tail. The smile in her eyes—full of promise, full of certainty. Because as long as we were together, every day would be filled with magic. I reach for her without thinking. But the space is cold now. Still.
Time carries a different kind of silence—one I’m still learning to live with. Yet, when the snow falls, it brings her back to me. I can almost hear the soft press of her paws against the snow, neither of us saying a word. The world seemed slower then, softened by the white hush.
She would pause sometimes, nose lifted, eyes half-closed, breathing in the cold air as if it carried secrets only she could hear. I wonder what she felt in those moments. I wonder if she knew I was watching her, learning from her. Deeply loving her.
Grief is strange. It wraps itself around you slowly. You think you’re fine until the snow falls again. Until you step outside and feel the bite in the air. Until the world looks exactly as it did when she walked beside you, her fur dusted with white, her breath visible in the cold.
They say time heals. But I don’t want time to heal this. I don’t want to forget the ache because the ache is where she still lives. In the hollow spaces, in the pauses.
In the patch of carpet by the bed where she laid in her final days. In the strands of her fur that still drift through the air, because cleaning too much would feel like erasing her. In the empty den outside, the one I still haven’t had the heart to close. At the entrance of the trail we walked every day. In the way I still catch myself saving a piece of food for her, setting aside leftovers she will never eat. In the way I still search for pet-friendly getaways, always drawn to the places she would have loved the most.
But Juno is still here.
She lives in the wind through the trees, the hush of snowfall, the quiet before dawn. She lives in the way I hesitate at the door we once walked through together.
Juno lives in the way I linger in the places she loved.
And sometimes, I hear her howling in the wind. Her presence, steady and close. I sit still in nature, and for a moment—just a moment—I believe she’s still there.
I let myself believe.
Yes, that’s a freakin’ white rainbow in the background. Just when I was wondering if I could believe in the rainbow bridge, a white arc appeared over the mountains after Juno went to sleep, my shadow cast in the light. Filled with magic, I could almost hear her howl in the wild, like a whisper in the wind—just out of reach, but there all the same.
Love leaves marks. Juno left hers in the rhythm of my days, in the beauty that she taught me to see, in the quiet of a snowfall. In the spaces where silence is no longer empty but filled with her memory. Sixteen years. A lifetime of Juno.
On a quiet snow-draped winter day of January, I took my sweet Juno for her final walk.
The trees were cloaked in snow, the landscape blanketed in white. A perfect reflection of her arctic soul. I had always hoped she would leave in such a setting, one that mirrored her wild, beautiful spirit.
When I came across Juno’s story on Kijiji, I knew that our lives were meant to intertwine for the years ahead. Born in the snow in Nunavut, her story deeply moved me. She deserved a life that honoured her northern lineage. In the years that followed, she had the space to unleash her wild, lone spirit. Together, we shared our time in nature, the place that truly felt like home to us both. In the end, I’m not sure who saved or shaped whom.
16 years of loving, roaming, being…
She lived a life worthy of the Coast Mountains, covering the map of our region and beyond. Her paws left prints in places where humans rarely tread.
Together, we distilled life down to its essentials: wildness, freedom, stillness, companionship. With her, life made sense. Neither of us was ever truly alone again.
That unique friendship was enough to be happy. We argued often, and her love was something I had to earn. And that’s what made our relationship so special. The bond we built over the years is indescribable, perhaps only felt.
We were different species, yet spoke a language all our own, built on gestures, loving glances, “I wuv yous”, and the quiet understanding that deepened over the years. We became one in a way only she and I could understand.
A fragile shield, yet strengthened in ways I never imagined–that’s what life with Juno made of me.
In the warmth of our home and the embrace of my love, Juno peacefully went to sleep. Outside the window, a storm rolled in. Big flakes of snow fell softly. I whispered to her, “It’s snowing, Juno. It’s ok to let go now.”
I’m not sure where the good dogs go. But I like to believe in holding on to what brings peace. I trust she will rest peacefully in my heart and memories, forever a part of me and all the beauty I see.
You can prepare for the firsts with a puppy. But nothing can truly prepare you for the lasts with an old dog…
The last hike to the mountaintop The last night under the stars The last time chasing birds on the beach The last woodsy hide and seek The last “catch me if you can” The last hole dug in the sand The last watch on the boat The last breeze ruffling the ears out the car window The last roll in fresh fallen snow The last warmth of the sun on the muzzle The last Christmas The last meal The last howl The last “I wuv you” The last goodbye…
And when your heart feels the weight of it all, you get a wave of emotions flushing through. All those moments that happened from the firsts to the lasts. Those magical in-betweens. Those everlasting memories to hold on to.
How lucky are we to love and be loved in a way that makes goodbye so impossibly hard 🖤
When the years you’ve carried start to weigh and slow, When your bones grow weary and your steps turn small, Will you whisper to me when it’s time to heed the call?
When your sight grows dim and your hearing wanes, When the scents you’ve chased drift out of reach, And the things you love stop making sense, Will you let me know when it’s time for peace?
As we meet the days at your gentle pace, Filling up on those last moments we still get to share, Will you show me when you’ve lived your full life, And when you’re ready for your last walk?
I’ll take you to where the good dogs go, Perhaps a place where it always snows. I’ll unleash you one last time and set your old body free, Holding a lifetime of you forever in my memory.
In the gentle shuffle of her paws and the affectionate gaze of her loving eyes, I notice the subtle shifts time has brought… Streaks of white upon her face. Wisps of clouds in her eyes. The soft dimming of her hearing. A measured pace. A slight hesitation to climb up the steps (although she still refuses any help).
Yet, amid the graceful embrace of aging, she clings on to her sense of wonder. Ever eager to explore new places, curious to sniff novel scents, and more frequently now, her gaze drifting into the distance.
As we navigate the passage of time together, she reminds me that its flow is inevitable yet beautiful. And so, we’ll keep soaking up the little things. Slowly. Lovingly. Comfortably.
Footloose Diary 