Author: Dakota Dawg

Dakota lived high in Colorado and was a member of the February Furballs. He lost a front leg to soft tissue sarcoma on 2-11-11. Dakota impulsively decided to see what the whole "rainbow bridge" business was about on 12-15-12 and before we could stop him, he was gone. But never forgotten. Never.

A frank, PG-13 rated letter to Dakota’s original owner

I am writing instead of Dakota this time. Today is Dakota’s 10th birthday, which got me to thinking about baby Dakota. I’m imagining him as a tiny puppy, fuzzy and helpless. And it pisses me off. So I want to write a letter to whoever was in charge when Dakota was born.

Dear Asshole,

About this time of year in 2002, you owned a female dog that you allowed to become pregnant. I understand completely that this was likely unintentional and that there is an excellent chance that you could not afford to spay that dog. Still, once the dog became pregnant and had her puppies, the responsibility for their lives rested in your human hands. In spite of your financial difficulties or your substance abuse issues or your painful childhood–or whatever potential past you came from–you had a chance to shine. You had a chance to do the right thing. Instead, you chose poorly. And on that day, you became a loathesome creature, a vile and slimy worm, lower than the dirt that you put your shoes on. You became an asshole and likely still are an asshole today.

“What?” I hear you say. “I’m a nice guy. I’m a great gal. What did I do?” Allow me to enlighten you.

You did not care for the lives that were in your hands. You did not provide food, water, shelter or medical care to the little family you allowed to come into being. You treated them as though they were expendable. I know, dear lord I know, how hard it can be sometimes to provide things that cost money. I know that if push comes to shove and we have to choose, we choose our human children over our dogs and cats. I am in agreement with you there. I would never tell you that you had to let your human child go without food so your pregnant dog could be fed.

That’s where shelters come in. And for the love of all that’s holy, it’s even where euthanasia comes in. If your dog and her puppies are slowly starving to death and you have no more resources available, then shoot them. It would have been kinder than what you allowed. If you had allowed Dakota to stick around to see the result of your inaction, you would have done the merciful thing. You have no idea how sick he was.

In August of 2002, Dakota was already standing with two feet on the Rainbow Bridge.

When we picked up Dakota in the middle of the dirt road that you either dumped him on or did nothing to keep him from, he was about 6 months old. We know this because he already had his adult teeth. But let’s be generous and say he was only 5 months old. I’ll give you the month. So at 5 (or 6) months old, he was dying. That’s how long the slow path to death was taking.

Dakota is an adult now and he weighed 80 pounds before he had his amputation. That was a pretty good weight for him. So I assume you will agree with me that Dakota was not supposed to be a small or medium dog. This is a big boy. Large breed dogs at the age of 5 or 6 months should weigh what? Good question. I looked it up. The average Labrador weighs about 50 pounds at 6 months. The average Golden at 6 months seems to be in the 50-pound range, also. I’m going to say Dakota should have weighed about 50 pounds when we found him. But I’m going to spot you 10 pounds here, too, because I don’t know for sure. I’ll lie and say he was 5 months old and should have weighed 40 pounds.

Dakota did not weigh 40 pounds. He weighed 12.

You asshole.

No thanks to you, Dakota somehow called to us and brought us to where he waited. He slowly strolled down the middle of a dirt road in an area with no houses or water sources for miles. Where had he been living? How had he been living? All I can think of is that God himself dropped Dakota right there that day and told him to start walking because we were on our way. When we saw Dakota in the road, we thought it was a large, ginger cat. That’s how little he was.

I have no idea who you are and what you are doing now. You may be dead, for all I know. For over 9 years, I’ve tried to forgive you for what you did to Dakota, his siblings and his mother. I can’t even imagine how things turned out for the rest of them. I will continue to try to forgive you. Some days I’m more successful than others. It’s a process, and it’s a long one. Today, though, I celebrate my dog’s birthday as a testament to his spirit of endurance and strength. He is a mess, thanks to you, but the fact that he lets me snuggle with him and accepts any form of touch at all amazes me. If you’d done those things to me, I would be in the corner pissing myself at the slightest noise.

Dakota is a wonderful dog, in spite of what you did to him. It’s too bad you didn’t give him the opportunity to let you see what potential he held. But I’m not surprised, because you are an asshole.

Sincerely,

Shari, Dakota’s Woman

 

CARE package from the Oaktown Pack!

Recently I wasn’t feeling quite right. I don’t know why, but I was tired and not very interested in my food or in doing much. My Woman wrote about it here. She said I didn’t want to stand up to eat and I hadn’t eaten but a few bites in several days. Well guess what? I got a CARE package to help me want to eat again! It came from the Oaktown Pack! And I’m not even a German Shepherd. That is so cool!

The CARE package was made at the Paw Patch Pastry shop and it was full of the prettiest, cutest, tastiest bacon cookies you can imagine. Travis Ray said they are doggie crack, and I have no idea what that means but he is absolutely right! I am so cracked about these cookies! Thank you, thank you, thank you Travis, Austin, Codie,  and even Smokey! And the Man and Woman, Ralph and Martha. You guys are pawesome!

Love, Dakota

My note from the Oaktown Pack
That pretty cookie basket.
Bunch of bacon beauties!
This one is mine.
And a bacon cupcake for dessert.
Cookie coma

 

ONE YEAR AMPUVERSARY!!!

To be honest, I have no memories of anything having to do with one year ago. I was knocked out, flat on my butt with several attractive women hovering over me and attending to my every need. No, my memories pick up again sometime in the evening when I finally roused myself enough to pay attention to where I was and what was going on.

There was a difference, for sure, but there was no pain. And there were the women. If I were not a dog, I would have been majorly impressed. There was the really pale and rather ethereal one who was in charge. There was the dark and incredibly serious one with the Australian accent who kept pronouncing my name with the accent on the first syllable. And then there were the minions, the ones I ordered around just with a glance. Man, what a life.

I have since come to terms with the loss of my leg. I still don’t buy the story my Woman and my Man fed to me about cancer. After all, my leg never hurt me and I never limped or begged for mercy the way some of you did. I still know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was coerced into going to sleep with all these lovely women nearby and then the leg fairies stole my leg by stealth and under cover of darkness. I have resigned myself to knowing that I was victim of something equivalent to the sirens, the lovely ladies who called to sailors and lured them into the briny depths. I didn’t know there were leg sirens or I would have lashed myself to the bumper of my Woman’s car the same way the sailors lashed themselves to their ships.

Looking back on this year, I have learned a lot. I learned that I am much more capable than I ever thought I was. I have heard my Man call me a weenie, and I guess I was. I try not to be a weenie now, though. I think I am braver and stronger now than I was a year ago. I got over many of my fears and plunged ahead, led by the fearless humans in my pack. My Woman expects great things of me and I don’t want to let her down, so I follow on. Sometimes she asks things of me that make me pee on the floor, but she encourages me and loves me and helps me overcome. So there. I’m a lucky guy and I know it. First, my Man stopped the car. Second, my Woman put me in her lap and never let go (even when I gave her mange). And third, I got a new chance when the sirens or fairies or whatever took away my leg. My folks love me a lot and spoil me, and I know I’m a lucky guy.

Love, Dakota

This is the action shot of Evelyn and me snatching our celebratory bacon out of the air!
Don't I look dignified? Suckers!

My pack’s getting a hairless bipawd puppy

But what if I don’t want a hairless bipawd puppy? Nobody asked me. I’m not sure this is a good idea. It’s coming in early July. It won’t be living in my house, but it will be part of my pack. It will live with my biggest Boy. He lives with his own Woman nearby, and they decided to have a puppy. Why?

I’m getting a very bad feeling about this. What will I have to do? I don’t have to let it have my Snausages, do I? Am I supposed to take it outside and show it where to poop? Do I have to share my stuff? Will it touch me?

My Woman told me that some of my friends here have had hairless bipawd puppies join their pack. She said Spirit Indi’s pack got one, and so did Spirit Catie’s pack. If anyone here got one, please let me know what to expect and what it will be like. And if anyone wants me to come for a really long visit, like a few years, I can come. Let me know soon. I kind of feel like this is an emergency.

Thinking hard about loving, losing, meaning, belonging

It’s been a rough winter. Lots of my friends here…aren’t. They just aren’t here anymore. You people use words that say it in a kind and gentle way, but my friends have died. I have been thinking a lot about losing friends. Here are some of my thoughts. Remember, though, I’m a dog. I have ideas, not necessarily answers.

I have vague sensations and feelings of life before I was put here. I believe that we dogs start out at the place you call the Rainbow Bridge and wait for the right human to be matched up with. It doesn’t always work. Sometimes we have to try again. But I feel very strongly that I waited there until it was my turn, and I know I had an ugly, ugly start. I was plopped down in a horrific place where I was yelled at, chased with sticks, sprayed with hoses, ignored, neglected, starved and infected with disease. I had to live like that for months until my family-to-be drove down the road I was on.

When I call my people my Man and my Woman, it’s because that is what they acted like for me. Moms and dads are great; I needed a Man and a Woman, though. When the car stopped and my Woman got out to see what I was, she wasn’t a mom. She was a Woman, gentle and kind and saving. When my Man parked at the gas station and bought me Oscar Meyer bologna and cheese to save my life, he was a Man. And when the drunk guy came to the car and claimed I belonged to him and tried to fight my Man for me and my Man said “if that’s how you treated him then you don’t deserve to have him and I will tell the police and have you arrested,” he was a Man, strong and powerful and protective.

I had to wait for these people but it was worth it. I endured the unendurable because I knew they would save me and I would always be safe.

What purpose did any of this have? Well, I’m not sure. However, I was so sick and contagious that I had to be isolated at my new home for almost 3 months. And 3 months after that, my Woman and Man started trying to find out why life was so hard for my Boy. Later on they found out about something called autism. I sometimes think that they were practicing with me so they could be even better parents for that Boy. I was very needy and sick and weak. My Woman was my caretaker. She had to learn patience and compassion and tolerance. I think it helped when my Boy needed a lot of all of those things. She had practiced a lot.

So what about the friends who have left? What was their purpose? What did their lives mean and how did they belong? I am a dog, and I am only me. But I will bet that their families can tell you stories of how they had a special purpose. I will bet that those dogs waited at the Rainbow Bridge to be put into the right home so they could do the job they needed to do.

Well, I hear you say, my dog has no special job. He came to me as a puppy and has lived a life of luxury. There is no tragedy or mountain to overcome in my family. Maybe you should think harder. Let me tell you what I else I have done here.

I have been a warm blanket for my Woman to curl up with on the floor when someone special died. When she cried so hard, her tears went into the ruff at my neck and I collected each one. When my family cries and doesn’t have a tissue, I clean the tears. I have been a quiet ear, a completely forgiving confessor when my Man or Woman messes up big time and needs someone to tell, someone they know won’t get angry.

My Woman gets miffed at how I have always slept right at the front door, so close she can’t even open it to come inside. I do that for a reason. I do it so I will be the first thing she sees when she comes inside, my tail pounding on the floor in happiness to see her again. Even if she is only taking out the garbage. I do it so my Man sees my smile first thing when he comes home from work and it is dark and cold outside and his shoes are full of snow. I do it so I can be close to the door when my Boy needs me to come outside really fast to play.

We are always there for you, even if you don’t need us. We listen and don’t tell. We see and don’t judge. We let you cry into our fur, yell at us when you really want to yell at someone else, trip over us in the dark because it’s better than leaving you alone. When you bring us home, you often tell others that you rescued us. You have it backwards, but we don’t contradict you. We live with you and we love you and then we leave you. But we will be with you again. My Woman says she doesn’t want to go to heaven if dogs aren’t there. She says she can’t imagine how God could want us to be happy but not let us have our dogs. I am just a dog and don’t know everything. But I know she is right. I’m still thinking about most of this, but I think I’m figuring things out.