Heartwarming Tales of Alaskan Malamutes
A Hero in the Backyard – A Personal Story
One summer, I was outside mowing the lawn while my three-year-old daughter played nearby. She was happily coloring in the driveway with chalk, and our 125-pound male Alaskan Malamute watched her as he lay in the shade of a tree in the front yard.
As I turned the mower to make a pass away from them, everything seemed normal. But when I completed the pass and returned to their direction, I realized my daughter was no longer visible. Alarmed, I stopped mowing and quickly walked around the side of the house. To my surprise, I saw a Labrador in our backyard, a dog I had never seen before. My daughter was walking towards this strange dog, and I noticed its neck hair standing on end. The dog lowered its head and began advancing towards her.
Panic surged through me, and I started running towards my daughter, who was about 20 yards away. Just as I began to sprint, a blur shot past me as though I were standing still. It was our Malamute. He dashed to the edge of our backyard, where our underground fence was located, and positioned himself between my daughter and the strange dog.
He didn't bark, growl, or make any threatening noises. He simply sat down and watched the Labrador intently. The strange dog stopped in its tracks, and they stared at each other for about 30 tense seconds. Eventually, the Labrador turned and ran off, and we never saw it again.
Relief washed over me as I reached my daughter. I praised our Malamute, telling him he was such a good boy. He beamed with pride, his face lighting up with a big smile. That incident happened over 20 years ago, but the memory remains vivid to this day. I'll never forget our Malamute's bravery and instinct that day.
The Silent Guardian - Personal Story two
In the summer of a year marked by unexpected challenges, our upper-class neighborhood, known for its quiet streets and manicured lawns, was plagued by a string of robberies. A sense of unease shattered the tranquility we had grown accustomed to. News of the break-ins spread quickly, and neighbors exchanged wary glances and stories of break-ins in their homes.
A particularly chilling incident occurred just a few houses down from ours. Our neighbor, whose husband was a lawyer often working late into the night, encountered an intruder in her own home. One evening, after finishing her shower, she opened her closet to find a tall stranger standing among her clothes. Her scream pierced the night, and the intruder fled, leaving behind a trail of fear in our neighborhood. The police stopped by each house and assured us they would increase patrols, and for a while, it seemed the neighborhood might return to its peaceful norm.
Weeks passed without incident, and the residents of our neighborhood's heightened alertness began to wane. Then, one weekday night around 2 a.m., I woke unexpectedly. It was unusual for me to wake in the middle of the night and even more unusual to be wide awake. After using the restroom, I felt a strange compulsion to check on our Alaskan Malamute, who typically slept in the backyard.
Peering out the bathroom window, I was surprised not to see him in his usual spot. A sense of curiosity led me to quietly make my way downstairs, careful not to disturb my wife or young daughter. As I approached a front window, I spotted our Malamute Juneau sitting silently in our front yard, just behind the boundary of our underground fence. His gaze was fixed intently on our neighbor's house across the street.
Intrigued and somewhat concerned, I watched as a man emerged from the shadows of the neighbor's backyard, moving stealthily down their driveway. I dropped to one knee, ensuring I wouldn't be seen as I continued to observe. The man, unaware of my watchful eyes, casually sat on the neighbor's retaining wall, mere feet away from our Malamute, Juneau.
True to his nature, Juneau did not bark or make a sound. He remained still, his eyes locked on the stranger, a silent watchman. The man, seemingly unphased by the imposing presence of our dog, pulled a flashlight from his hoody and began signaling down the street. Moments later, a responding flash indicated the presence of an accomplice.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, I swiftly dialed 911, whispering into the phone as I described the scene to the dispatcher. I provided my name, address, and details of the suspicious activity. The dispatcher assured me that an officer was nearby and instructed me to stay on the phone.
As I watched, the man began to walk away, disappearing from my line of sight. I had not seen the accomplice, only the flashlight. My heart raced as I informed the dispatcher, fearing the culprits might escape. Seconds later, the welcome sight of squad car lights illuminated the night down the street. The dispatcher confirmed that the police had apprehended one suspect.
Relief washed over me as I hung up the phone. Juneau, having initially remained still throughout the ordeal, began to move. Before the police arrived down the street. Juneau slowly walked along the perimeter of our front yard, following the suspect. As the man walked away, Juneau kept pace, his presence a silent but powerful deterrent. The suspect moved alongside our dog on the opposite side of the street until Juneau reached the edge of the underground fence and stopped, watching the man until he disappeared from view. Juneau's silent vigilance had played a crucial role in deterring the intruders and aiding in their capture. The neighborhood never experienced another robbery, and while we could never be certain those men were the culprits, I firmly believe Juneau's presence had kept his family safe and helped remove a threat from our community.
Juneau's actions that night were a testament to the unique qualities of Alaskan Malamutes—their unwavering loyalty, protective instincts, and silent courage. He didn't need to bark or growl to assert his presence; his size and vigilance made a difference. In Juneau, we had more than just a pet; we had a guardian whose watchful eyes ensured our safety and peace of mind. I did tell a few neighbors about this event, specifically the neighbors across the street. Word quickly spread throughout our neighborhood, and Juneau, who was already a local celebrity, saw his status grow to that of a legend in our neighborhood.
The Rescue – A Hero Adopted
Volunteering at a Husky/Malamute rescue for nearly five years introduced me to countless stories of loyalty, love, and sometimes heartbreak. One story, in particular, stands out, a tale of a 100-pound female Malamute from a small town in Nebraska whose life was turned upside down by a single act of valor.
This female Malamute was cherished by her family. She was well fed, groomed, and trained, living a life filled with love and care. The young family who owned her had two children, the youngest being a four-year-old girl. On a warm spring morning, the little girl was playing with her dolls on the front porch while her mother washed dishes with the front door open. The screen door was the only barrier between the family inside and the world outside.
The female Malamute lay peacefully on the other side of the porch, both she and the little girl out of the mother's view. Occasionally, the mother would glance through the screened door, keeping a watchful ear on the sounds of her daughter's play.
Suddenly, the serene morning was shattered by a low growl, followed by the Malamute darting across the porch. Alarmed, the mother rushed outside, only to find a small white dog lifeless in the Malamute's mouth while her daughter stood crying nearby. The sight was shocking, and it took a moment for the mother to grasp what had happened.
A neighbor's small dog, having gotten loose, had been running around the neighborhood. The little dog had ventured into their front yard and, in a moment of aggression, tried to attack the young girl. In an instant, the Malamute had acted on her protective instincts, intercepting the threat to keep the girl safe. The child, crying from the fright and the sudden commotion, was unharmed thanks to her Malamute's swift intervention.
Moments later, the dog's owners arrived while searching for their dog. The small dog's death left them furious. In the small town where they held significant influence and wealth, the neighbor's anger quickly turned to legal action. Despite their love for their Malamute and understanding of her protective act, the young family found themselves on the losing side of a lawsuit. The court's decision was swift and merciless: the family dog was to be put down.
Faced with the devastating loss of their beloved pet and the injustice of the situation, the young family was left with few options. They lacked the resources to fight the decision or relocate with their Malamute. Desperate to save her life, they turned to the rescue organization.
When the Malamute arrived at the rescue, it was clear that she was well-loved and well- cared-for. The story of her bravery and the family's sacrifice quickly spread among the volunteers. Within a week, she was adopted by a new family out of state who understood her protective nature and were eager to provide her with a loving home.
This Malamute's story is an emotional reminder of the loyalty and protective instincts that define the breed. Despite the heartbreak and injustice faced by her original family, they found solace in knowing she would continue to live and be loved. Their sacrifice ensured that their protector would not be punished for her bravery but instead given a second chance to be the special dog she was born to be.
Princess Amber – Becki Van Vlack
Every Alaskan Malamute owner has that one story of a Malamute who forever etches their soul, leaving a mark that time can never erase. For me, that Malamute was Princess Amber. She was a six-year-old rescue, lingering in a local Alaskan Malamute rescue organization when my ex-husband Greg and I found her in May 2008. From the moment we met her, Amber captured our hearts. Her gentle eyes held a wisdom and kindness that spoke of a soul far older than her years. With a sweet disposition and a laid-back demeanor, she seemed to know that she had finally found her forever home. Amber quickly became a part of our lives, as essential to our happiness as the air we breathed. She was always with us, by Greg’s side while he worked in the yard, at my feet while I baked in the kitchen, or wagging her tail in delight on our weekend trips to the beach. Amber's joy was infectious; she loved everyone, and everyone loved her.
But it was with my dad that Amber shared a bond that went beyond the ordinary. My dad, a man hardened by years of service in Vietnam and Iraq, was not a dog person, at least not until Amber. He returned from Iraq carrying more than just the scars of battle; he carried the weight of his fallen friends and the silent, gnawing burden of PTSD. He was a man who had learned to keep the world at arm's length, even those he loved most.
Yet, Amber saw through the walls he had built, sensing the wounds no one else could see. Greg and I would drive 45 minutes from our home in Coos Bay to Myrtle Point to visit my parents each weekend. Amber would leap out of the car, her tail curled over her back like a flag of joy, and head straight for my dad. She would follow him around their property without hesitation, a loyal shadow in his solitude. It was as if she had appointed herself his guardian, his protector. Her presence was a comfort to his troubled spirit.
Dad would talk to her as he worked, sharing his thoughts in a way he never did with anyone else. She would sit beside him as he tinkered in the garage, her calm presence grounding him in the here and now, pulling him away from the memories of war that haunted him. When he drove his small blue Volkswagen pickup around the property, Amber was always in the back, her head held high above the cab, her eyes gleaming with the joy of the ride. She became more than just a dog to him; she became his intimate friend, his silent counselor. In her, he found the comfort and companionship he didn’t know he needed.
In 2011, Amber fell ill. She was nine years old when the diagnosis came—cancer. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath us. The vet's words echoed in my mind: the cancer was advanced, too far gone for surgery. The decision we faced was agonizing. Amber had been our rock, our joy, and now, the thought of her suffering was unbearable. Greg and I talked for hours, but in the end, it was clear that the choice was mine alone to make. I knew I couldn’t let her suffer any longer.
Amber's vet, Amy, who was a close family friend, offered to come to my parents' home to make Amber’s passing as peaceful as possible. I agreed; it was the least we could do for the dog who had given us so much. The day Amber passed was one of the hardest of my life. As I held her in my arms, I could feel her body relax, and she looked up at me with those same wise, loving eyes that had greeted me years before. There was no fear in her gaze, only love and an unspoken message: Mom, it’s going to be okay. I buried my face in her soft fur, my tears soaking into her coat, as Amy gently touched my arm and whispered, “She’s gone.”
Amber’s passing was especially hard on my dad. The man who had faced down enemies in foreign lands, who had witnessed more death than any man should, now found himself grappling with a loss that struck deep into his soul. He and Greg chose a beautiful spot in the backyard overlooking the Coquille Valley, where Amber had spent so many joyful days. They buried her there, where the sun would warm her resting place, and she could forever watch over the land she loved.
People who know Alaskan Malamutes will tell you that these dogs are not just pets, they are companions in the truest sense of the word. Amber was all that and more. Her love, her loyalty, and her unwavering presence were gifts that will never be forgotten. The space she left behind cannot be filled, but the memories of her will continue to live on in our hearts, reminding us that some bonds are so profound, they transcend even death.