Xena Beana

Over Christmas break Xena, our beloved family dog, passed away. In general, I'm not a huge animal person, but Xena was always my one exception. We had Xena for almost thirteen years, during which she truly became part of the family. She was a boxer, a 70 pound lap dog, and she will be dearly missed.

So that I don't forget them, I thought I'd blog some of my favorite "Xena Beana" memories...

We got Xena when I was in high school. My mom researched dogs for months and finally decided that a boxer would be the best fit for our family. Boxers are known for being very gentle with kids but also for being great guard dogs, so it was decided. My dad found a breeder and went by himself one day and picked out what he thought would become our family dog. A few weeks later, the whole family piled in the car to pick up said dog, but upon arrival my mom spotted a different dog in the litter that she deemed "prettier" than the one my dad had originally put dibs on. And so the small boxer pup in the corner, with the white chest and front paw, tripping over its own feet and falling into its water bowl, became ours. We named her "Xena," like the warrior princess.

Once we got Xena home, we soon discovered that she wasn't your average dog. Her quirks and idiosyncrasies shone through from day one. It started with the crate. Dad went out and bought Xena a really nice, large crate to stay in when she was home alone. The first day Xena went in the crate, my mom tucked her in with some toys, locked the door and went off to work. That afternoon, my mom came home and walked in the front door only to discover Xena sitting in the kitchen, crateless and wagging her tail. Mom checked the crate, and yes, it was still locked. This same series of events happened several days in a row: put dog in crate, lock door, come home, find dog sitting in kitchen or on couch. Her Houdini-like tendencies finally came to an end when we caught her in the act. By pretending to leave one day, we realized Xena had been standing on her hind legs from inside the crate, poking her head through the top, and shimmying her way to freedom. That was the end of the crate.

Then there were the cordless phones. Xena apparently had some separation anxiety when left home alone. If the cordless phone rang, she would jump up, knock the phone off its charger, and chew it apart like it was bone. She would literally pluck each number off the phone with her teeth and we'd come home to find the "#" button in the bathroom and the "Redial" button under the coffee table. I'd say she did this to at least ten different phones in the thirteen years we had her...and that would be a conservative number. We tried hiding the phones and mounting them on the walls, but somehow she'd always get a hold of them. She eventually grew out of this when she got older (thank goodness), but she will always be remembered as the phone thief.

Xena was just our little buddy. After my mom passed away, I stayed home from college for a semester. Just about every morning, I'd come downstairs and sit down, so sad, and she'd come rest her little head on my lap. When I was support raising for East Asia two summers in a row, she'd follow me from room to room around the house as I made calls and sit at my feet as I mailed letters.  She was the dog we could let out the back door and trust wouldn't step foot outside of the yard, even without a fence. She was the dog that loved peanut M&Ms. She was the dog that ate an entire box of chocolate-covered cherries one Christmas morning before we all woke up, and lived to bark about it. She was our Xena, and we will miss her so.