Hey Friends,
(This post is about my dog Odin, who died recently. It is mostly intended for my friends, who knew Odin.)
On June 2nd, 2024, the spirit of our beloved Odin departed for the happy hunting grounds. His was a good death. Just two weeks before dying, he was jumping through flaming hula hoops at a bonfire. He got sick all of a sudden and died within a few days. He was ten years old, which is the average life expectancy for a Rottweiler.
He leaves behind an unknown number of children and grandchildren. He sired 18 puppies, most of whom of probably reside in Quebec. Given that Odin sired his first litter of puppies at the famous L’Auberge de la Greve in Riviere-Trois-Pistoles and his second at the equally famous L’Achoppe anarchist collective in Montreal, I would guess that Odin’s descendants will continue to roam Quebec for many years to come.
(If anyone has any information about Odin’s offspring, Zoe and I would love to hear about them! Please feel free to reach out to antonbueckert@protonmail.com. Include pictures please!)
I would love to write a quick summary of Odin’s life, but Odin lived way too action-packed of a life for that to be possible. When I think about how many adventures he went on and how many people’s lives he touched, I think it would be fucking awesome to write a whole book about his life.
Think about it. Odin partly grew up on a hippie commune, then a series of punk houses, travelled across the country in a veggie oil-powered school bus, hitchhiked to Northern B.C., hopped trains, and ended up living in Toronto’s last stronghold of artist lofts with the frontman of Canada’s premiere black metal band. A book about Odin would be a book about the counter-culture in Canada, which now has been largely destroyed by the twin demons of COVID and cancel culture.
Also, honestly, it’s been hard for me to write about Odin because Odin hadn’t really been my dog for some time. When I decided to move to Mexico in 2021, I gave him to my ex-girlfriend Zoe, who I raised him with. For the past few years, I’d had conflicted feelings about leaving him behind. But once some decisions are made, there’s no going back.
At times, I missed Odin terribly, as if I was missing a part of myself. For a long time, I felt I had a telepathic connection with him and that I could feel him missing me. It made me feel guilty, even though I knew that he was in good hands with Zoe. Eventually, that telepathic connection went away, but then I started feeling like I was missing a part of myself. I felt that I had disappointed my best friend by abandoning him. I am generally someone who likes to live in the present, but when I think of Odin I think back to everything that’s led to where I am now, and it makes me wonder what would have happened had I made other decisions.
I sometimes feel like I had everything and messed it up for myself, but then I remind myself that COVID wasn’t my fault. The culture war that destroyed the whole counterculture wasn’t my fault. We’ve been living through weird times these past ten years, and I’ve been doing my best to stay true to myself throughout it all. I don’t really feel like beating up on myself. But do have I regrets? Sure I do.
Anyway, I suppose this message goes out to everyone out there that knew Odin. I plan to collect some pictures and some stories about his life and hopefully we can turn them into a book or zine or something. I think that some of you out there will understand why this idea makes sense. I know that I am not the only one to whom Odin represents nothing less than the spirit of adventure.
Zoe hit the nail on the head when she called Odin “the pure archetype of the Fool”. He was exactly that. He was always down for an adventure. At a moment’s notice, he was ready to hit the road. It didn’t matter what the destination was. It could have been Alaska. How can a dog know anything about destinations? For Odin, travelling was never about arriving at destinations, because he literally would never even know what the destination of any particular adventure was. Can you imagine trusting the universe that much?
He was gung-ho to go forever and ever into the unknown without the faintest tinge of worry. The world was one big adventure waiting to be had, and at the end of every road was fun, awesome people to muzzle and lick, and dogs to wrestle and play with.
And this is one of the reasons that I call Odin one of my greatest teachers - he had no fear of the unknown. None. He assumed that the world was one big cool, fun, neat place, and that wherever he ended up, good times would be had. He had the most lovely, positive energy you can possibly imagine. He loved people, and they loved him. He was the best dog ever. Ask anyone who spent any time around him. His exuberance rubbed off on people. He brought happiness everywhere he went. And I don’t think he really ever worried too much. I learned a lot from him about living in the moment.
The second time I spoke to Zoe after hearing the news, I asked her how she was feeling. She told me tearfully that “it feels like the end of my youth” and I told her I felt the same exact way. Thinking back on all the adventures that I went on with Odin, I’m aware that they belong to a phase of my life that’s in the past now. I’m thinking about all the people that I used to be friends with who I have lost touch with.
I think of the friends that I have lost in the fog. Somewhere out there are many people who I consider friends, who I am fond of, but who I have fallen completely out of touch with. I have socially isolated myself by taking controversial political positions, and I’m reluctant to reach out to certain people, feeling that it might be awkward. In almost every case, part of the basis of our friendship was political affinity. But by now I have probably alienated most people by breaking so many political taboos. Perhaps some of my former friends now see me as the enemy. But surely there is a dimension to friendship which transcends differences of opinion. Perhaps some of these old friendships can be rekindled. Only time will tell.
In any case, Odin’s death is sad for those of us who loved him, but let us remember that he had no fear of the unknown. When Death came for him, Odin appears to have gone along quite willingly. This is quite fitting for Odin’s personality. He was always down for the next adventure.
Anyway, if anyone has photos of Odin that they would like to send me, please send them to me at antonbueckert@protonmail.com. And if you’d like to share any Odin-related stories, feel free to post them in the comments here.
Anyway, today I’m going to share a short story written by Zoe.
Enjoy!
for the wild,
Crow Qu’appelle
HOW WE GOT ODIN
Crow and I bought Odin from a family of rednecks in Quebec who had three grown rotties, one of which had a litter of puppies, and an unmanageable amount of cats I estimated at being in the high teens. 23 year old me, and a first time dog owner, I believed some of the claims to fame these people said about the notorious breed. Firstly that rottweilers are racist against black people and that even a television appearance would set off their feral temper. Secondly they had a taste for blood, so under no circumstances must we allow our precious pup to have a sip, else he would become a cold blooded killing machine. Thirdly, our puppies grandfather was a 250 pound King Rott that used to cannonball into the water to save any poor soul from all bodies of water, whether said person was enjoying a pleasant morning paddle in a clear lake in July, or a screaming child in actual distress; it made no difference, this big hero was out to save you.
Unfortunately all YOU saw while enjoying a dabble, was a racist beast chasing you down, jaws out, who may have accidentally sucked on their owner's dirty tampon once and wants some more vital fluid. The list of allegations continued to suggest that Rottweilers at exactly 1.5 years of age would defy their masters, and as boss, I had to make a fist with my middle finger sticking out slightly and punch the dog to submission. The breeder thought it was very important to note that the fist had to land directly in the middle of the canines eyes. And lastly, her dogs were so highly desirable that the closest Zoo actually wanted to trade one of their tigers for one of these black beauties.
I should add that these purebreds were being sold for only 200$, and cheap paper printouts were found along small town telephone poles and the local spring where the townspeople get clean water. The well was where Crow saw the placard, and once he has his mind set to something no one is allowed to change his mind. Not even a bumpkin defining a 10-13 year commitment to a vengeful, racist, mutt.
So we bought him and named him Odin; The father of the Nordic Gods, and the protector of heroes, a magician, and the God of War and Poetry. Little did I know there are several neo-nazi groups who also appropriate the nordic mythology, and some that even use Odin's name to add weight to their anti-immigrant beliefs. Oops, well I didn't know that.
Our Odin is neither a racist, a bloodthirsty murderer, nor a humanitarian lifeguard, and I have absolutely never punched him all hell ablaze between the eyes. However Crow's stubbornness can attest to the fact that we did manage to stay interested until the point of sale, instead of pulling a Bugs Bunny and running away from Elmer Fudd.
Beautiful eulogy and artfully cast out here for strangers to not be so strange - thankful for sharing , life, process and a leaving with grace. Odin is now in many hearts.
I had tears in my eyes at the title of this and ofcourse my heart just burst when I saw your pictures. I know two friends that are going to be happy to see each other 🥹 Sending all my heartfelt condolences Odin please give Macaiah and big hug for me , one of those that topples you over and roll on the floor together laughing