Zion, Rest In Peace

Here I am, their "human", injecting myself into their lives. Forgive me.

From the moment I saw her, I knew she was special. She had Trinity's delicate, feminine features. Her sweet little eyes and snout; Her colors, and possibly her coat. I was smitten by her.

At 5 weeks, I took Trinity's litter outside to play and took this beautiful photo of the puppy I named "Zion". I named her after the city of the resistance in the Matrix. Usually pups aren't named until they are picked up by their new owners, or once we know they will stay at Crystal Creek. I named her in the moment that I knew I could never keep her.

When I took this pictures of her at five weeks, I remember thinking, "Take as many pictures as you can. You never know when something tragic might happen to one of these pups."

I especially thought of this little puppy. I hoped nothing tragic would ever befall her. No bite from another dog. No premature swim in the pond. I was going to guard this puppy with my life, because she meant that to me. I am so thankful I took these pictures of her before I knew the future.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. The sun was at a slant that hinted how far into fall the season had grown. At 5 weeks and 2 days, I heard the tiniest rasp of congestion near the food dish. I picked up Zion and placed her near Jon's ear.

"That's it isn't it? She has Mega-E". Megaesophagus a disease that's almost always fatal in puppies. Their esophagus has a soft spot in it which causes food to get caught instead of swallowed. The most common sign is regurgitation of food and a raspy sound after eating or drinking.

"Yeah, it might be. It's hard to say whether she ate too much at once, or if she has it. I haven't seen her throw up, but maybe Trinity kept the whelping box pretty clean."

"How can we know," I asked?

The best way is to watch after she eats and see if anything comes back up."

So, the next day I tested our theory, just to be sure. I fed her scrumptious deli-counter turkey from Safeway. She gobbled it down. I laughed to see her enjoy it so much. But my laughter was short lived. Minutes later, her eyes went glassy and she was yelping. She didn't want to throw up. She didn't even know what it was. But she threw up every last bit of that wonderful turkey.

I told Jon, and he gave me suggestions on how to help her, if she was going to survive. We tried ground hamburger meat, cheese, milk. I became discouraged and couldn't think of anything more that she might like to eat. It all painfully came back to the surface and she was growing weaker by the day.

By 5 weeks 5 days, she was a skeleton. Her boney little body was pushed this way and that as a strong autumn wind blew in ahead of a storm. She was outside playing with the others. Her tenacity amazed me. She hung around the water well, and continued to drink in-spite of her in-ability to keep it down. I hoped lingered in her system to stave off dehydration. If only she would grow! Jon said if she grew, she might be able to live. I was in denial.

Later that day, I offered her the holy grail of dog food. Raw ground meat. She turned away from it. Even when I tried to force her to taste it, she dropped it out of her mouth.

At 5 weeks 6 days, there was a snow storm. I went home. I needed a break. When I woke up in the morning, I felt refreshed and eager to return to the pup. I woke a little late and was taking my time getting ready. That's when I realized I hadn't heard from Jon that morning. I checked my messages. I nearly panicked when I listened to his. Zion had stumbled out of the dog igloo, sometime during the night. She was almost dead. He tried warming her in the tub, but he had to go to work.

I by-passed make-up, breakfast, and anything else that wasn't a necessity. I raced to his house. When I arrived, I looked all over for her. I looked outside with Trinity, in the bedroom...She must be gone, I thought. I wasn't there like I promised I would be. I sat on the floor and started to cry.

"I wanted to be here for you, Zion. I'm really sorry I wasn't. I'm sorry I let you die alone." Then... I heard the exhaust fan in the bathroom. I opened the door, and there was; lying on her side in the tub, wrapped in a wet towel. When I called her name, she lifted her head. I was amazed at her strength.

I picked her up in the towel and held her tight. She seemed so alive! But I looked inside her mouth and knew it was not true. Her gums were blue and her mouth cold. She was fighting, but she was dying. Quickly I realized that the blanket was soaking wet. I took her out and began drying her with the hair dryer. She seemed to love it. Realistically she probably couldn't fight it.

My main concern at the moment, was to make her comfortable. I was like the hospice unit for dying puppies. I wrapped her in a new towel and we went to lay down on the bed. I didn't think she was going to last much longer.

We laid on the bed like that for hours. At one point I wondered if she was only holding on, because I was holding her. When Jon came home for lunch at noon, he poked his head in.

"Wow! I can't believe she's alive. You don't understand, that puppy was almost dead. Heck, she might have been dead. Maybe I just thought I saw her jaw move, and it was really just me not being able to let go." He paused, "I brought her in and ran hot water over her. When I left for work, I left her for dead."

Then he gave me hope. He fed her chicken soup. It seemed like the elixer of life. She WANTED to eat it. If only I'd discovered chicken soup two days earlier, maybe she wouldn't look like this. She ate and ate chicken soup. Later she drank a bunch of water.

Then...I started finding little puddles of puke. Water, laced with chicken soup. They were all over the place. She was stumbling around in the dining room. She laid down in a cold corner.

I took her into the bathroom and laid her out on the rug. The lights provided warmth and the rug was soft. She was so weak. I sat with her for awhile. She was nearly asleep. Jon called me away to help with a task. I left for about a half an hour. When I came back, she was gone.

There was a small spittle of throw-up on the rug just beside her mouth. There was no other mess to clean up. She had prepared all evening for this. Going "outside" like a good little puppy. Emptying her stomach. All that was left was a beautiful little german shepherd puppy, lying on the rug as though she were asleep, gone to her name-sake...

Best Dog-gone Dog In The West

"Here Yeller,
Come back Yeller
Best Dog-gone Dog In The West

Old Yeller was a hunter
A rarin’ tearin’ hunter
In many chase he knew just how to run

And when he hunted trouble
He always found it double
And that’s when old yeller had fun

Old Yeller was a fighter
A rootin’ tootin’ fighter
In many scrap he knew just what to do
A rough and ready feller
Although his coat was yeller his bold texas heart was true blue”

-Old Yeller Theme Song, Disney 1957

Have you ever seen this movie? It’s great! I was lucky enough to be left home with the Television on one day when it came on. Seeing as I am blind, I could really only listen to the movie. I don’t know why they call the dog “Old Yeller”. He’s clearly a German Shepherd. What with his bravery and loyalty? The ending really choked me up.

Which leads me into my next bit of good news. Yesterday, I got adopted! This great family from Trinidad, Colorado drove three hours just to pick me up. I feel like I’m living the life of ‘Old Yeller’. I have my own little boy who I can nearly look in the eyes. He calls me “Kesser”.

Just like in 'Old Yeller', the father has gone somewhere. I imagine to a trading outpost to pick up the little boy’s horse? At any rate, I wish I’d been there when he left to hear him give me the charge to protect everyone. I’ll do it anyhow, but it really would have felt like I was living the movie if that had happened.

My first night, I was ready to crawl into the little boy's closet and bed down for the night, when he called me over and patted his bed.

“Kesser,” he whispered. “Up here Kesser”.

Now I haven’t been up in a bed in years. I put my paws up and tried to propel upward with my back legs. To my dismay, I couldn’t do it. But then the most wonderful thing happened. My little boy crawled down out of bed, and heaved and hoed until my legs found a place where I could get a grip and climb on up. He jumped up next to me and I lay down right next to him, his little arms wrapped around my neck. I fell asleep with his warm breath on the back of my neck.

I pray at night for my real Daddy (not the Daddy here, whenever he comes home). I pray too for my daughter, B’Ehllana, who I shared the closet with for so many years. I hope she understands. I miss all of them, but I have to say, having my own family is everything my Daddy said it would be.

As the weeks go by, the memories of my old life fade. I see the little boy clearer each and every day. Though my eyes are mostly blind, a little light trickles in. I see his outline as he grows.

But most of all, I see his heart. And I don’t need eyes to see that.

Signing Off,

Kess

Where Does The Human Go?

Dear Diary, Lately I've been wondering. Where does my human disappear to every day? She feeds me every morning and lets me out of our den to do my business. I'm thinking maybe she is out on a hunt. She must work really hard on the hunt, because many days she comes home with nothing. During those times, we must eat this pseudo meaty stuff that I guess she hunts for too. Those round pebbly things must be easier to catch, because we always have a supply of those. But I love it when she catches the chickens and turkeys! Sometimes she even rips out their hearts for us! I love my human. But I think if she took me along, we would have real meat more often.

Forever Loyal,

Trinity

Kess pontificates on blindness

My name is Kess. I am 8 years old (not in dog years). I am mostly blind. I spend most of my days curled up in a closet with my daughter. I have a tendency to eat the other dogs’ food and get upset if they get too close to me while I’m doing it. I’ve been waiting to be adopted for three years.

This is how that last part goes. Daddy tells everyone how wonderful I am. He even tells them that I am almost blind so there won’t be any surprises. They want to know what else is wrong with me. Nothing! I’m a great dog! I mean other than being blind.

Some of these people even come out to see me. I wander around rubbing up against them, begging for a pat on the head Sometimes they do stupid things like throw the ball in a direction where I’m most likely to run into a tree. Then, when I run into the tree, after the stupid ball that they tossed, they realize that they wouldn’t like to take me home because most likely they would throw balls at trees.

Probably the most ironic adoption experience I’ve had to date dealt with another sight challenged being. This family came out to see me, right? Two little girls and a Mom and Dad. By the way, I love other females! Anyhow, this Dad, he was nearly blind too. I thought I was a shoe in. The dad didn’t want to go on long walks or need a big brute to protect him. He just needed some companionship. I can understand that, hanging out in the closet all day. I thought we would be kindred spirits.

The two little girls loved me too. They threw the ball for me, even though I almost mistook one of their hands for the ball. It was a close call. See what I mean? The Dad loved me and I nearly made his daughter a stumpy armed little girl! But the mom…. I did my best to woo her. I asked to be petted by looking up at her with my most puppy dog eyes. And all she saw was my blindness.

“Look at her eyes! Why are they that weird color?” she said in a dissatisfied tone.

I could tell she didn’t like me. She didn’t like me because my eyes are strange from the blindness. Maybe Daddy should put dark glasses on me like Ray Charles before he shows me to people. While he’s at it, throw in a white cane too! Maybe we could get one of those “dog for the blind” harnesses. Me and this guy could walk around the block, the blind leading the blind! It would be great! But she did not like me. She kept commenting on my eyes and on my coat. Nobody had brushed me in awhile and your coat kind of gets frumpy when your main activity is hiding out in the closet all day.

So, they said they’d talk it over and get back to us. I wonder. How does that man feel now? His wife didn’t want a blind dog. To her, I was useless; I was stupid for running into the tree. Does he ever wonder what she thinks about him?

What Trinity Does While Her Human is at Work

“It is in everyone’s best interest to work towards solutions that will avoid or mitigate potential wolf-livestock conflicts”.

This is a statement I heard while watching the news when the human was at work. “Potential wolf-livestock conflicts”. How does that work exactly? There is no “conflict” per se. The wolf is hungry. It’s not like he’s hanging around looking for a fight or plans to defend his territory. He just sees a steak or a lamb chop roaming around a mountain meadow and thinks to himself, “Dinner!”. It’s a cheap dinner. Cheaper than most. The “livestock” don’t give much of a fight in comparison to…say Brother Elk. But it’s not like the wolves are the Mafioso or something. They’re not coming to collect a debt.

And on the other side, do livestock really have a conflict with wolves? It’s not a mediation out there on the grassland. They aren’t going to sit down and talk about whether a leg would suffice in place of becoming the pack’s new breakfast buffet.

Don’t get me wrong. The wolf is my brother, from sometime way back when. But our needs conflict. Why don’t they just put a pack of me out there amongst the sheep and the cattle? I’m a herding maniac and a protector by nature. Those wolves wouldn’t stand a chance against a pack of German Shepherds. And we are well fed by our humans, so the sheep look like sheep and the cattle look like cattle, to us. If only humans realized that they could give up sitting at fancy tables talking about wolf-livestock conflicts that don’t really exist. If only, instead of reimbursing ranchers for livestock lost in this “wolf-livestock conflict”, the government funded a large herding dog pack like me and the rest of my kind. We could stand guard over these “innocents” and there would be a lot less payouts.


I’m going to mark this down as a potential career path and talk to my human about some job-training or trade school. I can see myself now in the trenches; protecting my sheep.

The Pack