DINGO
It was time. Our
loyal and devoted farm dog, Dingo had been showing signs of getting old.-She
snored heavily in a deep, almost unconscious sleep through her afternoon naps,
and she would awaken startled when I’d bend down to rub her ears. Like myself, I’d catch her padding purposefully
into a room. She’d stand there scanning the four corners with a puzzled
expression, and look at me as if to say, “What did I come in here for?”
Dingo loved her job. She
was proud to guard her family and uphold order on the farm premises. She always slept lightly and was the first
one up and out the door before daybreak to silently patrol the farm. She did
not want to miss a thing, and felt it her duty to investigate the nocturnal comings
and goings she missed while snoozing. But
lately, she was slow to rise. And
instead of racing dutifully to the front door, she’d leave her bed and join me
as I sat sipping my coffee by the window. She’d politely lay her graying muzzle
on my knee and together we’d gaze out across the moon-shadowed pastures waiting
for the colors of the day to appear.
Dingo was born the year the Twin Towers of NYC went down. I first saw her June 21 st of that year, standing
bewildered and scared in the middle of the desolate dirt road that leads to my
property. She was a good mixture of shepherd,
lab and chow and resembled an Australian dingo dog. She was with a poodle-like pup with straggly
black dreads. She had a makeshift collar of coarse rope tied in a sloppy knot
around her neck. The matted poodle had
what looked like a real dog collar. A red plastic-like band buckled too tight
around her neck. Dingo appeared to be
the leader of the duo. I already knew the routine. These two buddies were just two
more furry faces that had just been discarded. Dogs pushed from some abominable
coward’s vehicle and left to figure it out in Florida’s sweltering summer heat
and unrelenting thunder and lightning storms.
I did not get to pet Dingo until the afternoon of September
10, 2001. That first day I saw her in
June, she and her friend ran and hid in the woods when I stepped out of my truck
to coax them to me. That first afternoon I continued on my way to feed the
horses at my barn. Later I returned to the place I first saw them in the road,
and I left a bowl of water and a shallow bowl of dog kibble in the shade of a
large tree. As I started to drive off I
saw them both emerge from the woods. I got
out of my truck talking and sweetly coaxing them to come to me. They slipped
back in the woods. I drove forward and watched
them in my rearview mirror. They emerged from the brush and stood on the
roadside watching my tailgate get further and further from them. When it
appeared I was safely far away they hurried to the bowls and devoured every
bite. This was the start of three long
months of slowly trying to win her trust.
It had never taken me so long to convince a dog to trust me.
What had someone done to these two dogs to make them so afraid of people? I
spent hours sitting in the road, both dogs within my reach, but any move I made
to touch them was met with serious growls and barred teeth. And so morning and
night, I fed them---I was even able to worm them with Lassie liquid wormer in
their food. One afternoon in the pouring
rain while they were eating I distracted them enough to cut the makeshift
collars off somehow avoiding snapping teeth.
Three months of thunderstorms, mosquitoes, and incessant heat until one
day in September Dingo appeared for breakfast with no friend.
I have no idea what happened; I can only torture myself with
my imagination. The woods have bobcats, wild
pigs, and coyotes. The canal where I sometimes watched them drink is home to
alligators and snakes. I did what I
should have done months before---I called my friend at animal control and asked
for advice. She agreed to meet me that
afternoon after work. The county has
only three large traps for animals. She
agreed to let me borrow one that night if I put down $100.00 deposit. She had been eating Kentucky Fried Chicken
for lunch and had the box with a leg bone on her front seat. We set the trap up in the shade of a pine
tree and she threw in the chicken bone, turned to me and said, “Chicken bones
get ‘em every time!”
We parted ways and I returned to my barn. My good friend and riding buddy MO called to
tell me she was on her way to my barn to ride her horse. I told her of my frustration and the new plan
and explained where I had hidden the trap. Twenty minutes later as she drove
down the dirt road, she called me and said, “You got yourself a Dingo!!”
I could ramble on about what a great dog Dingo was… I will one
day write down all the stories of my escapades with her. That first week I took
her to the vet to be spayed. I put the
word out to try and find her a good home.
Thank God, I had no takers. It
didn’t take long for everyone to see that she was a gem of a dog! There was no
way she was leaving my farm! She was an awesome dog. Mannerly, modest, brave, and loyal, she became
everyone’s favorite to take on horseback rides.
She was instinctive, protective, intelligent, and I believe she would
have laid down her life for me. And like
most rescues, she remained forever grateful for the opportunity to walk the beat on Forever Weekend
Farm.
Probably one of the hardest things to do as a dog owner is
making the decision to intervene and help a beloved pet pass painlessly onto heaven.
I have selfishly held on to an ailing senior pet because the thought of not
having that friend grace my day was too much to bear. The uncertainty of never having that zealous
greeting at the door after a long day at work or never being so appreciated for
just being me was something I could not face and so I sidelined that dreaded
decision. Oh, I talked the talk and
advised others what to do when their pets were ready. I still do. I’m always
offering to hold friends’ hands and be there to help when it is time. It is such a hard decision.
Yes, it is a hard decision, but a loving and loyal friend deserves
to die with dignity. I promised that to
Dingo. So thirteen years from the month
she was probably born---on a beautiful Friday morning, Dingo did not eat her
breakfast. She did not eat her
dinner. Saturday morning, Dingo did not
get up. We carried her outside
and we stretched out with her on her quilt in the shade of an oak tree. We told her how wonderful she was and how
much we appreciated her. Her breathing
was labored and I thought God was going to take her. Dingo did get up one more time. She never wanted to be any trouble so I
believe she was trying to go off and die in peace without a lot of fuss. I could not bear that---We carried
her into the house and we made her as comfortable as possible. But as she was being gently carried into the
living room, her eyes met mine. That
look said it all. I knew my sweet friend
was ready. I knew it was time. I called my vet who has always agreed to come
to the house and Jerren, Pat, and I
sat with Dingo stroking and hugging her.
We told her what she meant to all of us and how happy we were to have had
her in our lives. Our vet arrived and gently
sat with us. And while Dingo was being
lavished with love and praise, she quietly helped our forever friend pass on.
My Dingo slipped off to heaven with her head resting in my
arms. She was buried next to Billy Bob
and Wooie.
Every day I think I see her. In the morning, when I sit in
my chair sipping coffee, I look out on the fields as the morning sun turns them
green, and I see Dingo. Silently she trots with grace and grit, her head held high.
Her eyes are bright and her tail..... a wagging flag as she continues to patrol the
pastures of Forever Weekend Farm with dignity. She is forever in my heart.