Tasha and Others

Archive for the ‘Dogs’ Category

Stuffed toys are to my dog like chocolate is to some people. When she knows it’s somewhere near, she has to have it. And once it’s in her mouth, she has to destroy it.

Like a typical golden retriever, Tasha first holds a stuffed toy with a “soft mouth.” This breed usually holds their prey tightly, but without too much pressure, so as not to actually pierce it. Sometimes they even drop what’s in their mouth.

Not my dog. No matter how big or small the stuffed toy, it doesn’t take Tasha long to get a good grip and start ripping it apart. She’s like a dog maniac on a short-lived mission.

I’ve tried hiding these fuzzy teddy bears, rabbits, and balls, but she can smell them. I wonder what stuffing must smell like.

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A cute, Golden Retriever puppy named Lucky wasn’t born lucky at all. In fact, when she came into the world, she didn’t even have a name. You see, Lucky was part of a large litter of puppies born in a puppy mill.

Lucky’s mother was used as a breeding machine. Over and over, the skinny dog had her litters of puppies. The puppies stayed crammed together in a tiny chicken-wire cage in their own waste. They were unable to stand or sit. Tightly enclosed with her brothers and sisters, Lucky tried to curl up in a little ball to make herself as small as possible, but failed every time.

When Lucky was just a few weeks old, she was shoved onto a truck, where she suffered on the long trip to a pet store. When she arrived, Lucky was advertised as a “cute Golden Retriever puppy.” Although her price tag was high, she lacked any socialization skills. She was very shy and afraid of people. Lucky stayed curled up and waited.

Soon, she was bought by a family who wanted the cute puppy with the light gold fur. Clueless about Lucky’s background, they took her home with them. Soon, the family became frustrated with the sad little puppy that never barked or played. Her eyes stayed vacant, and she didn’t respond to anyone. After only a few weeks, they took her to a street far away, and dumped her on the side of the road.

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Recently, I was walking along a beach in Southern California, where it seemed as though almost everyone had a dog of some variety. As I walked along, I started asking people where they got their dog. Many of them replied that they had purchased their dog from a breeder or private party, which disturbed me greatly.

Being an advocate of animal welfare, and dog rescue in particular, I felt the need to convey my opinion. Did these people not know that there are dogs waiting in shelters to be adopted and loved? Did they not care about giving an abandoned or abused dog a chance at a forever home?

I wanted to spread the word about the importance of adopting companion animals from shelters and rescue groups. I wanted to make people aware of how spending great amounts of money to buy a dog was a selfish act, especially when that money could be used to help shelters and rescue groups keep going.

As I gathered more disturbing responses from dog owners, I started to visualize just what form a message would take to help people stop and think about rescuing a dog rather than buying one. In the interest of spreading awareness about dog rescue, I struggled with the exact wording, but then it came to me—bold lettering on a t-shirt that said simply: “Why Buy? Rescue a Dog.”

I missed it this year, and I feel terrible. I didn’t remember that it was Tasha’s birthday until a few days after it had passed.

I’ll get her the usual birthday cupcakes tomorrow and we’ll celebrate. Too bad she doesn’t have any friends this year to help her celebrate. Well, actually she does have friends, but they’re not the birthday types.

Tasha is a rescue, so technically she doesn’t have a birthday. But the man I rescued her from told me (for some reason) that December 23rd was her birthday. So, I celebrate it every year.

Happy Birthday to my girl, who’s now five-years old, but acts about two. I’m so glad we found each other.

So, now that I’m pretty much healed and recovered from surgery, I’m out of bed, walking tall (well, that’s relative), back to the gym, and seeing friends. During the time I was laid up, Tasha stayed by my side. She had different people feeding her and taking her for walks. But her favorite place was at the corner of my bed, where I stayed for two months.

Now I take Tasha here and there with me, and it’s almost like the surgery and recovery didn’t happen.

I missed the whole summer (the best time in Seattle)–the time when I’d be at the dog park with Tasha whenever I could. I missed taking her to the lake and throwing tennis balls for her.

I didn’t go home for awhile, so Tasha got to stay with her best friend, Roxy, a Rottweiler mix, which was good for both of them.

But without her normal exercise and feeding, Tasha stuck with me. She didn’t care that I couldn’t walk because she had her special corner of the bed. She also licked me quite often, as if to say, “I’m here for you and I love you!” Sometimes I think I got more love from her than from anyone else.

A few weeks ago, I fell down a flight of stairs in my house. I didn’t fall because Tasha, my four-year-old golden retriever, was in the way. I slipped and was lucky to have her at the bottom of the stairs, licking me and encouraging me to stand up. Once a frenzied puppy that I had rescued at eight months, Tasha had settled down to become an amazing and patient friend. This time, it was me who needed to be rescued.

As I sat shaking on the floor, Tasha nuzzled me and observed me with a quizzical expression. I got up slowly, grabbing onto her back, and reassured her that I was okay. Something told her that I wasn’t, because she wouldn’t leave my side, even as I shooed her away.

As it turned out, she was right—I wasn’t okay. Finally, I went to the emergency room of a nearby hospital, and Tasha went to stay at a friend’s house. After the diagnosis, I was transferred to a prominent Seattle hospital and had surgery for a fractured sacrum. When I woke up, I lay on my side and thought of Tasha. I wondered how she was doing, if she missed me, and if she instinctively knew that I would be back to take care of her and resume our relationship.

Before I left the hospital, I was told that I couldn’t walk for six weeks, until the screws in my pelvis were set. Six weeks! I immediately thought, “I can’t do that!” Just the thought of it was too much to bear. My next thoughts were, “How am I going to get my dog back? When can I go home with her? Who will walk and feed Tasha, and who will take care of her? “

I spent the next two weeks at a rehabilitation center. My friend brought Tasha there to visit me a number of times. When Tasha saw me, she immediately jumped up on the bed, as she does at home, and again, licked and nuzzled me. I desperately wanted her back.

I am now at home in a wheelchair and slowly getting better. Tasha often lies on her corner of the bed where she seems content to be, and we are together again. With her by my side, I can’t think of a better way to recover.