Old dog, new tricks

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

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.

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.

today i goed on a big essplore at my new home. at my old home i did big essplores and had fun and got into trubble and made messes and rolled in dirt and did whatever i wanted. today my momma and my dad wuz taking stuff out of the big scary moving truk. i found some more trubble then. this is wat happen.

you knoe i live with a boy. well, we brung this boy’s bestest fren here to help. you knoe how they helped? they taked their lil drivey cars and drived them on the sidewalky things and made the drivey cars do triks and stuff. i like them drivey cars a bunch so i went with them boys. momma and dad did not see me go. momma came to fine me and she had her big frowny face on. she say she was skared and worried. i try to tell her i jus went on a big essplore. she did not heer me. momma loves me bunches and bunches but she is not very smart. i wanna go on a essplore tomorroe. you wanna come?

evelyn

I understand I am the member of a special club here called The February Furballs. I don’t know exactly how many members are in it, but I know these: Bellona, Lucky, Rio, Bud and me. We all had our legs stolen by stealth and magic in February 2011. We all were lured into a vehicle of some sort, taken to a V-E-T, enticed into taking a lovely nap and then woke to the magical goodness of having a leg missing. Of course, the whatever that made our legs hurt or gimpy or bad was gone, too. Added bonus, of course. Excuse me if I’m a wee bit cynical about that part. You see, my leg never hurt. I have seen the photos, though, and I admit it didn’t look good for my future.

So today I say happy, hippy, hoppy ampuversary to me! One more month and it will be a year. I hope my Woman is already sending out the invitations for the affair, and I hope all my Tripawd friends are running the lint brushes over their tuxes and spangly gowns, because February is going to be the month to pawty! After all, look at all the pawesome members who will be celebrating a whole ding-dang year with me!

I hope there is a big ol’ party table set up over the Bridge, too, because I have a lot of friends there who I want to celebrate with me today. Yesterday Abby made everyone really sad when she crossed the Bridge, but I’m thinking maybe she went in advance to make sure this damned party is done right. Abby has always been our go-to girl for all things sparkly and celebratory. I know she is making sure that Gayle doesn’t eat all the cheese and Catie puts down her stick and Ted brushes his hair and Chili and Bo and Tate dry off before coming to the table. There are so many over there partying, I can hear them laughing and playing when I dream. Can’t you?