I'm a Dog!

11 years, 2 months, and 13 days, I had a dog. Her name was Dakota.  

On Friday, July 20, 2007, I came home from work and met a puppy. She was just there in the driveway and ran up to me when I got out of my car. That’s how I met Dakota. My neighbor asked if I wanted her, I said yes, and that was it. I had a dog.

I was living in Asbury Park when Dakota got me.  Every night we’d go for these long walks around town, up to the boardwalk and all over the place.  Every time we saw a person, she would want to go over and sit on their feet until they pet her. It was her thing even on her last day when she met two new people at the office.  Walk over, sit on your feet, get petted. By doing this, EVERYONE knew her. Actually, I believe at one point, she was dubbed “Mayor Dakota” by someone. I was just “Dakota’s mom”. I had been living in Asbury for a few years but didn’t really know anyone.  I’m not a super social person in general and certainly not a “go out and make random friends” type.  Walking Dakota helped me meet all sorts of people and make new friends using her Dakota magic. Being Dakota’s mom is one of the best things I’ve ever been.

One of my favorite memories is that my brother was walking Dakota for me one day and the Asbury Park police officers who were patrolling the board walk that day called me up to say “Are you aware that some man is walking your dog?”. Er, yes, officers.  That’s my brother. Stand down.  I’m not sure if they actually stopped him until I confirmed, but I still thought it was hilarious and also, that’s how much everyone knew Dakota and cared about her.

I’d had Dakota about a year when my Aunt Laura’s health started to decline.  I had quit my job as a consultant and taken up part-time work so that I could spend more time with her. 3-4 times a week, I would drive the 40 minutes up to Westfield with Dakota to visit Aunt Laura and every time, Laura would say “Oh that’s a cute dog, but I can’t take care of a dog right now.” (She was a bit forgetful at that point, being 90 years old and having a bit of dementia). I’d reassure her that the dog was mine and she wouldn’t have to take care of it. Then she’d sit and pet Dakota. I don’t know why but that memory always makes me smile.

As far as random dogs that show up on your doorstep go (or any other dog acquired in any other way), Dakota was pretty much the greatest dog ever.  She was just a good dog. She learned her name right away, listened, potty trained in like a week, sat, came when you called or whistled, walked next to you without a leash, backed up when you said “back it up”. And she learned with ease. She was like a magical first dog that has probably ruined me for all other dogs. I love Queso, but that dog is STUBBORN. Dakota was just…Dakota.

There are so many memories. So many things that I don’t want to forget:

-       Karl saying how when she walks, it like she’s happily exclaiming “I’m a dog!” with each step.

-       Her happy rolling in the grass.

-       Karl and I getting lost on a hike with her and how after 10 miles, me and him were desperate to find the car but Dakota was the happiest ever because walking in the woods and sniffing things was her favorite.

-       How when she was little, she would just stop walking when she got tired and lay down like “yup, I’m done. Good luck to you.” I’d have to pick her up and put her in my bag to carry her the rest of the way home.

-       How she didn’t like to swim so when I threw the ball into the ocean, she would wait for the waves to bring it back and then get it when it was in shallow water.

-       How she would always sit with me when I was sick.

-       How she thought she was a cat and would sit on the back cushion of the couch until she got so big, she would just squish it all the way down.

-       How she would be so happy to see me, she would wag her butt in a U and hit herself in the face with her own tail.

-       How when we’d hike, she’d only go as far away from me as she could still see me. She ALWAYS had to have eyes on me.

-       How she would follow me from room to room.

-       How she would self-pet by walking back and forth under your hand.

-       How she would hit me with her toy when she wanted to play.

-       The time she got into the UPS guys truck like that’s normal.

-       How she loved EVERYONE, including whoever broke in and stole my tv when I first moved to Indianapolis (I found her sitting on the couch, chewing on a stick).

-       How she’s sit on the porch and bark once every so often to remind us that we’d let her out and forgotten to let her back in. And if we still didn’t let her in, she would run around to the back deck French doors and stare at us through the glass. Seriously, she was smarter then any of us.

-       Morpheus used to follow her around and smack her when she was a puppy. Like “I’m the boss. Don’t forget it. Ever” She learned, too, because she always let the cats boss her around.

-       How much she loved Brian and the minions. Each time one of the boys would start to pet her, she would do this sort of slow drop and roll over so they could pet her belly. Also, she would sit outside their bedroom door waiting for them to come out whenever they were staying with us. She loved those boys so much.

-       How when I’d say “go to Brian” she would go to wherever Brian was.

-       How she would walk back and forth against your legs like a cat.

-       How Neo had to run up and rub all up on her the minute she came into the house and she’d just sit there with a long-suffering, tolerant look on her face. Because in our house, the cats and dogs don’t realize that they are different from each other.

-       Her ninja puppy crawl

-       Teaching her how to drink from water fountains.

-       Is it a squirrel or is it a murderer? She’ll bark at either.

-       Her near religious hatred of rabbits.

-       Her constant desire to catch a chipmunk.

It’s brutal. There is not a thing on this earth that will love you as much or as unconditionally as a dog will love you. Not a person, not any other kind of pet. Nothing. There was nothing that I could do wrong in the eyes of that dog and no matter what, every time she saw me, it was the happiest moment of her life. And no matter what, whenever I saw her, everything was better. What do I do without that?

The cancer came on so fast. It’s like one day she’s jumping around like a puppy and then she’s sort of not eating and then she’s not eating but we think she’s allergic to something but, no, it’s lymphoma and her spleen and liver are affected and there’s bruising on her belly because of the cancer and she’s barely got any energy and can’t keep food down and she won’t walk around the pond which is her favorite and you have to sign the horrible papers that say you understand what it means to euthanize your pet. Because there is no drug, no surgery, no amount of money that can make it better. The only choices are to sign those papers or watch this family member that you love so much suffer because it’s too hard to let her go. So, you sign the papers and see your husband cry for the first time in the 9 years that you’ve known him. I hate those papers. I hate them so much.

On Wednesday, October 3, 2018, I brought Dakota to the vet for the final time. And that was it. 

11 years, 2 months, and 13 days, I had a dog. Her name was Dakota.