Before rescues, before Fluffy Shepherds, there was Nikita — our first family dog, a Bernese Mountain Dog chosen for us by the breeders at Double Dutch Berners in Nanaimo back in 2000.
They picked her because she was steady, gentle, and born for family life. And they were right. From the first day we brought her home, Nikita became the heartbeat of the house — velvet eyes, patience, and unconditional love wrapped in fur. She was the kind of dog who made you believe loyalty was something sacred.
She also had a secret talent — one that baffled us for years.
The panty thief.
Fresh-washed underwear would vanish. We blamed the dryer, the kids, each other — until one day she got caught red-pawed, trotting proudly down the hall with a pair dangling from her mouth like a trophy. She’d sneak them from folded baskets or even open drawers, and only ever fresh ones.
The day she needed emergency surgery to remove two pairs from her intestines, the mystery was finally solved. She came home sore but smug, as if to say, “Told you they were mine.”
Nikita was the epitome of a family dog — gentle with the kids, loyal to Cheryl, and my shadow from morning to night. When she turned eight, the vet gave her a clean bill of health.
Two weeks later, she was gone.
Sudden.
Unexpected.
Devastating.
You never forget your first real goodbye.
Her passing cracked something open in us — but it also made room. Because just weeks later, Genessa came into our lives. Looking back, I think Nikita knew what was coming. That she was making space for the rescues who would follow.
Legacy Note:
Nikita taught us that love’s first lesson is letting go — and that sometimes, goodbye is what makes rescue possible.