Peanut is an eleven-year-old deer head Chihuahua. I found her as a young dog, alone (abandoned?) in a mall parking lot in Texas. She quickly became a most cherished part of our family.

Peanut has many names and answers to them all. Peanut-Weenut, Peanutty, P-Dog, NutterButter, PurtyPeanutGirl, and Peaniferous Maximus are just a sampling. Many songs are sung to her with these names and ridiculous lyrics— to which she happily responds with silly butt wags.

I tell people she is the worst Chihuahua I’ve ever known. She is friendly, calm, sweet, and very quiet (we’ve only heard her bark about 5 times in the past 10 years). Very un-Chihuahua like behavior, right? I guess no one told her to be an evil, shivery ball of snarling spite. I’m glad.

Peanut doesn’t ask for much. She loves walks (read: sniffs), cuddles, and burrowing in my long hair whenever it’s down. Of course, she does insist her “cuteness tax” be paid in a regular and timely manner. Her preferred method of payment is a bit of scrambled egg from my breakfast plate or perhaps a nibble of bacon. However, she is always very polite about her tax collection.

I could have never imagined so much sweet personality would ever be bound in 8 pounds of little dog. Peanut is truly a joy bringer and I’m so happy she is in my life.

I am a yard guy. I like to plant something, give it periodical care, and proudly watch it thrive. Which is why the thin spot in the grass at the corner of my driveway has driven me bonkers for the eleven years we have lived here. I have de-thatched it, aerated it, over-seeded it, fertilized it, limed it, treated it for diseases and fungus, and still it remained sparse.

But no more. Spring is sprung, and for the first time ever the spot is a thick carpet of shitty green lushness. But damn, what I wouldn’t give now to have that thin spot back?

It seems that Josey Wales has gone and taken her waiting spot with her.

I've had a few dogs in my life and I've always felt that they were sent to me one way or another. This is going to sound a little crazy but, we're all a little mad here, right? So here goes.

The first dog that I had that was my dog, not a family dog but MY dog, was my Loca Mocha. I was working a grave yard shift at a truck stop, I had just gotten a DUI at 19 and knew that I needed to make some changes. I went out front to smoke and ponder life and one of the most beautiful dogs I've ever seen came bounding over. She looked like a german shepherd, had the markings of german shepherd but long, super soft hair. A guy was walking up to the doors and I figured she must be his. "Beautiful dog." I said to him. "Oh, she's not mine." He replied. I followed him into the store as I was the only cashier on duty.

I kept an eye on the dog and noticed that she didn't leave with anyone. I took her out some food and water and decided that once my shift was over, if she was still there she would be coming home with me. She had a collar on with a tag and a phone number. I had tried calling and had given the number to my brother to try as well. He finally got ahold of the person and she told him that it wasn't her dog, that her dog had died and someone had stolen the collar off of her dog and put it on this one. (Do you believe it? We didn't.) It was good news to me, after all I didn't want her to have a home, I wanted to be her home.

My shift ended and we loaded her up into my mom's car and home she came. We found out shortly later that she was pregnant and she was an amazing mom to the 9 pups that she had, oh how I wish I would've kept one but we found them all good homes. Fast forward a year and I'm living with a friend, her dog and mine are best of buds.

I came home one night from going out, Loca jumped all over me as she always did, I let them both outside, went back to let them in a few minutes later and Loca was lying on the ground, she had passed away. I thought someone did something to her and a rage came over me that I had never before experienced. I took her to the vet and got an autopsy done (yes, they'll do autopsies on your dog) the vet explained that the walls of her heart had thickened over time and that they don't act any differently until finally the chamber of their heart closes off completely and they just pass. He had a dog with the same thing happen, said it was jumping through a field, happy as could be and then just dropped and was gone. I was utterly heart broken. A few days after burying her I was visiting at my parents house and my mom said to come look out the window at this dog.

She was gorgeous, a cinnamon colored husky with pale blue eyes. I'd always wanted a husky. My mom left to go shopping and the dog was still hanging around. I asked my Dad if we could bring it in and hang on to it until we found it's owners. Surely a dog that beautiful had owners. My dad said yes. That husky came right in and hopped up on the couch next to me like she had known me for years. When my mom got home she was not so happy to see the dog in the house and said it would find it's way back home. My mom opened the door and let the husky out onto the front porch. She went out on the porch, sniffed the air, turned around and came right back in the house. She knew where she belonged. I named her Angel Isabel, Izzy for short.

Izzy went everywhere with me, she even went to my nephew's school for show and tell and everywhere we would go people would always say, "What a pretty dog." And she knew it, she loved going on car rides and camping. She had such a personality.

As as I was working at yet another gas station one of my co-workers was talking about a dog they just got from someone and how their nails were super long. Another co-worker was telling her that the dog was old anyways and she should probably just put it down. I couldn't listen to it anymore and told her I would take the dog. I went over to her place and as soon as I walked in this tiny little fluff ball called a shih tzu started jumping up and down. "That's the first time she's acted like that." My co-worker said. That's cause she knew, she knew I was there for her. Her name was Gracie and she was the smallest dog I've ever had and the oldest, she was 18 when I got her and I got the pleasure of being hers for 3 years before she passed.

When I decided to move out on my own it wasn't in the best of neighborhoods. For as dog friendly as my town claims to be landlords would like to disagree. I remember thinking that as much as I loved Izzy I would love to have another dog that was a bit more intimidating. I thought of my brother's black lab that Izzy got along with so well. A few days after that thought occurred a young male black lab showed up at my house. Again I figured this must be someone's dog. I took his picture and put out found ads. My brother said that he would take him and as much as I wanted him I didn't know if I really had the time for him. I told my brother he could take him and that same day the dog's owner called. My brother dropped him off to his owners and I figured that was that and again, I was a bit heartbroken. A few months later I went to let Izzy in from outside and a familiar visitor was in the yard.

This time I decided that I would wait and watch for a lost ad for him. I checked facebook and craigslist daily, I called the animal shelters, no one was looking for him. That, along with there being the end of a zip tie on his collar told me all I needed to know. He was meant to be with me. And that's how I got Loki. He and Izzy were thick as thieves. I lost her a few years back from diabetes but she got to see the new house and I don't know why but that was so important to me that she got to be here with me. She came through so much with me.

Shortly after she passed one of my childhood friends asked if I could take in their border collie mix because their husband wasn't being very nice to it. I of course said yes and that's how I got Dixie. I've never seen two dogs that get along quite as well as my Loki and Dixie do. And I know one day I'll have to say goodbye and that I'll be heart broken once again. But for the love of dog, I can't say no.

I have one of those dogs. People call him my "once in a lifetime" dog.

Everyone who meets him falls in love, though most look on him at first with terror.

He is a gigantic black hound with amber eyes that veer nearly red in the evening light. He has long legs, teeth, and claws, and a bark that booms low bass and causes the hairs at back of one's neck to tingle in salute. He's a cross-breed of a Golden Retriever and German shepherd that somehow came out all black and bigger than either. In light of this, his ears cannot decide whether they'd like to stand up or be floppy, and usually just match his mood instead.

He is my very best friend. The heart of a golden and the mind of a shepherd. Strong, agile, loyal to a fault. He is my children's protector.

They climb atop his back, brush his tail, put ribbons in his hair, and dance with him in the kitchen. All of this he delights in. He visits school children and lies immediately on his back, relishing in tummy rubs and snuggles and small feet squishing his tail and toes.

But on those rare occasions that a stranger passes by on the sidewalk, and I feel in my gut a sense of alarm, danger in the stranger's presence, my beloved dog immediately responds. He would not bite, not unless I told him to, but sensing my unease, he places his body in front of the children, and hackles raise inches in the air, quivering with threat upon his back. The stranger gives a wide berth as both the dog and I posture death if they dare so much as glance at the four small kids tagging along behind us. And once the moment passes, he is instantly back to the precious boy who sweetly snuffles and kisses at the palms of passersby.

When I cry, which is more often than I might like to admit, he nudges his nose under my elbow and looks at me with eyes too intelligent. He understands my pain and he sits with me in it-- quiet company for the war that rages in my mind. When I laugh, he bounds around the room like a puppy in springtime. When I take him to visit my elderly grandparents, he lays at their feet and walks gently alongside when they stand, slowly--support should they fall. He reads the emotion in a room with uncanny cleverness. He curls around children napping on the floor and covers them with his tail for warmth. He brings his most favorite toy and nudges it into your palm, an offering of peace in a room that has suddenly grown too loud.

He is seven now... and the giant breeds live shorter lives. It seems a crime.

He rises a little slower from his bed these days and the whiskers under his chin have begun to be quite white. One cannot miss the contrast with the jet-black fur covering the rest of him. He is beginning to be old, and my heart is beginning to be achy at the prospect.

A once-in-a-lifetime dog.

A once-in-a-lifetime hurt when it is time to say goodbye.

Dougal. His name means dark stranger, but I know him in my heart of hearts.

Oh my GOODNESS!

Okay, so my dog's name is Natasha! She is an American Staffordshire Terrier (cousin to the pitbull, looks like a pitbull but with a black nose, thinner face, and less muscular/stocky). Natasha is knee-height, has short black fur everywhere except her tummy and paws, and right now she's a little chubby :)

Natasha just turned 12 this past March, and she is an ABSOLUTE cat. She likes her personal space unless she comes up to you for love. And if you call for her she will give you the side-eye, give a little "harumph", then get up and slowly saunter over.

However, when she chooses to be cuddly she is an absolute sweetheart. She'll act like a shark and run circles around the table to then side-swipe you when you're not ready.

Natasha has been in my life for half of my existence. I was there when she was born, and we have been side-by-side ever since. Through every parent argument, every trial, every situation I've found myself in, she has been there for me. I can't count the tears I've cried on her fur, the conversations I've had with her that I expect her to answer, and all the journeys we've had. I also honestly wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for her love and companionship.

Natasha is my best friend. I love her so, so much.

I have a Beautiful blue brindle Great Dane. Her name is Karma and she is about 4 years old. She is my mobility service dog and she helps me with balance and walking. She was a rescue, I got her when she was a year old and started training her to take my elderly dogs place. She has bonded with me and even sleeps with me. She goes everywhere I go.

Karma has a condition called cherry eye, which means when she was a puppy the third eyelid didn’t go back in like it should and it is inverted. Now it won’t go back to normal without surgery, so to some people she looks scary.

However she is actually very sweet and timid, and she is very loving.

Karma knows the basic commands, and she knows shake hands and she gives her paw to put on her leather harness she has to wear for me, it has a steel handle wrapped in leather for me to hold onto for support when we walk.

Karma is a very sensitive girl and I am so lucky to have her company!

I have a black dog

Igor of many

mixed breeds

in the gravel

pawing

or is it

Chandra

moonlit

that hounds me

like memory

or grave

nostalgia

a reminder

of a walk

or a path

to be taken

a trail

explored

or not

yet inspected

I hear a whining

with tugging

at the leash

of liberty

or imagination

pulling at the feet

of obstacles

to be dodged

while wandering

panting near

at the collar

and hollering

at my dogged

Shadow

with teeth

04.12.2023

For the Love of Dog challenge @rosetempest

A mutt, he had the coloring of a Rottweiler and the body of a Pitbull. Apparently, that was the wrong combination. The oddball amongst his siblings, the Pitbull papa pushed and growled and snapped to keep him from feeding along with his brothers. The mechanic who owned the shop where he was born ignored them.

Wandering while repairs were being made one day, my husband happenend upon him cowering in a corner of the garage, a silent ball of fur, covered in oil. I suspect he named him in that moment. He was forever after Kara, black in Turkish. He wrapped him in some towels, put him in the backseat of his car and took him home.

On the way, Kara got motion sickness and vomited.

Oil.

By the time I got home from work, my husband had both scrubbed his car and bathed Kara multiple times. I came upon him walking home from introducing Kara to our neighbors. After parking my car in the garage, I went out to meet him.

"Ooooh, whose puppy is that?" I said from a non-petting distance in my baby-puppy voice.

"Ours," he said hesitantly

"What?" I said, in the same way someone else might have said are you out of your *bleep*ing mind?

"I couldn't leave him!" he said, and then proceeded to tell me Kara's story.

"Rescuing him doesn't mean he has to be ours. There are shelters."

"We can't send him to a shelter. Anka and I love him already."

"Great! You have a beautiful heart. But that heart won't feed the dog. Walk the dog. Clean the dog. Scoop poop. So, who do you think will end up doing all that?"

"I'll take care of him!"

"You don't even take out the garbage! So it will be another responsibility for ME! Oh, but wait, who has I-can't-breathe-get-me-an-inhaler-now allergies to dogs?"

"Sweetheart..."

I pivoted, steaming, stomping, slamming the door behind me as I went into the house to make dinner.

Yeah, well, needless to say, Kara stayed.

Kara was the most adorable puppy in the world who tried to bury bones in the marble floor of my breezeway (the scratch marks in one corner remain). I still have the artificial plant where he buried another.

He grew to be super smart and quiet and loving and protective. He wouldn't hurt a fly-I made my husband promise he wouldn't be violent like the stories I'd heard of Pitbulls and Rotweillers, and he wasn't. I once had a man come to get rid of bees for me and Kara was following us around the garden. The man never noticed until he turned around and then he nearly jumped out of his skin. Kara did look scary, but he just sat, his tail swishing under him, waiting to be pet.

"Some watch dog," he said.

The only person Kara ever barked at (until he got old and senile and barked at ants), was a contractor. The contractor ended up disappearing mid-job with a lot of our money. Grrrrr.... Kara was an excellent judge of character.

My favorite memory is watching Kara from the kitchen window. When he headed to the back corner of the garden, I knew within minutes a bus would pull up on the main road. A few minutes after that, Kara's tail would begin a wild wagging and then he would prance toward the front yard, matching the pace of my husband on the street, our neighbor's house between them.

"Oğul [Turkish for son]," my husband would call as he turned the corner into our street. Kara would jump on his dog house and over the gate into the front yard out of my sight. But I knew what I would see: My husband on his knees, hugging his buddy and getting all kinds of happy dog kisses.

Kara was a part of our family for ten wonderful years. All our hearts broke when he left us.

My dog's name is Shadow, a mix of a lot of things (mostly golden retriever and german shepherd, but there's a lot more in there). She can be a bit dumb (like the time she walked into a glass door) but also smart (if she wants, she can get out of her crate). When she was a puppy and escaped once, my family was chasing after her. Shadow would run ahead, stop, wait for us to get close, and then run more. She thought we were playing a game lol.

She has a few medical issues, but she's happy and spoiled. I love that dog :)

Sisi was a wiener-chihuahua mix. She was mild mannered, quiet, and loyal unlike any other. She was a poop shade of brown, but the cleanest dog I ever had. The only dog I ever really had, though we had many dogs in our home over the years. She's the only one I will ever truly call mine, aside from Charlotte, whose life was too short to form a real bond.

There's not much to say about Sisi. She followed me around, comforted me when I was sad, and I can't stand the fact that my teenage hormones made me miss her final days.

She was always pregnant. The first time she had puppies, my parents gave them away way too early. When the last one was gone, she hopped on my bed and we cried ourselves to sleep together. I held her all night and told her how sorry I was. I always wonder if she understood. I think she did because she avoided everyone else in the house after that day except me. Like I was the only one she trusted.

She got pregnant a few more times after that and the last time, I was off with my boyfriend when she was giving birth. She had complications and my parents decided to put her down. I only found out after it happened. I was mortified. I'm still mortified. I would've given anything to save her and now all I can think is that I wasn't there when she needed me most. I wasn't there to save her. All because I wanted to spend time with a boy who ended up traumatizing me and ruining my life and it all started with her demise.

I should've known then that he was a bad idea, but I wasn't mature enough to be this cynical.

Anyway, I've refused to own another dog since. I will never forget her. I will never get over the day she lost her puppies or the day I lost her. I will never feel love for a pup that way again and I will never forgive myself for abandoning her.