Nellie

I Am Nellie

by  • 

Nellie

I was going through the BarkingProse archives and I found this draft written by Nellie. She was a rescue dog that came to Asherpark through Old Dog Haven. It needs a little work but it’s such an amazing story. I wanted to polish it up but Mom said we should let Nellie tell her story in her own way. So here ya’ go. The first chapter in Nellie’s own words. (Finn)

I Am Nellie

Hard luck, bad luck, lucky little devil, no luck at all and finally a turn of fortune. That pretty much describes my life.

I was sitting on death row at the so-called animal shelter in Tacoma. The people who work there are nice enough.

Most of them really care about what happens to the unlucky creatures that find our way into the shelter. But they get overwhelmed. The cruelty, the senseless mistreatment of the animals that come through their doors wears on them.

They have to make choices every day – who lives, who dies. I don’t hold it against them that they put me on the who’s gonna die list. I would have picked me too.

I was past my prime, probably eleven or twelve years old. You could smell me before you could see me. I had a huge tumorous ball on my side. It was saturated with urine and they thought probably malignant.

Nobody was going to adopt me and so I had to die to make room for a younger more adoptable dog.

I had a couple things going for me, but in the chaos of the shelter not everyone could see that I really did have some value.

For one thing I was an Australian Shepherd. Now you may not think that’s a big deal, but Aussie lovers have been known to do crazy things to save an Aussie.

I was on the smaller side, which made lifting me easier. And my eyes were different colors. Yep! One blue eye that looked straight ahead and one brown eye that drifted off to the side.

Still, none of these features would be enough to save me from euthanasia. At best the technician would probably say something like, “Too bad we couldn’t save this one. She sure has pretty eyes.”

But then I got lucky. I didn’t die at the shelter. I began a new life at Asherpark. It was a wild and wonderful ride and truly a tale to be told.

Journey

Beautiful Journey

by  • 

Journey

When I saw this picture of Journey it melted my heart. OMG isn’t she so beautiful? Doesn’t she look like the perfect dog? Calm, poised, wise, all-knowing.

Sometimes appearances are deceiving as I discovered going through the BarkingProse archives where I learned a bunch of funny things about Journey.

When she was about twelve weeks old Mom took Journey to a puppy class. It was the first of many classes to come for Mom and Journey.


 Baby Journey

At this first class Journey pitched a fit when the instructors asked everyone to settle down and listen. Journey started wailing, which of course made the other puppies act up.

The man instructor walked over to Mom and told her they had to figure out how to get Journey to relax and be quiet. He asked if he could work with Journey during the class and Mom sit on the sidelines and watch.

Mom was more than happy to relinquish her little devil pup, and that’s how Mom learned about calming puppies.

Turns out the instructor was a horse guy who whispered things. Horses and dogs felt his calm energy and would relax. Not Journey. As the instructor sat on the floor holding little Journey in his big hands, Journey squirmed and shrieked. I guess she made quite the spectacle.

The instructor told the class he could not release Journey until she gave up and stopped struggling. He explained that he used only the least amount of force on Journey as she pitched a world class tantrum. The instant she relaxed even a little, he relaxed his grip.

Well Journey is a fighter and she didn’t give up easily. She cried through the entire class with the patient instructor sitting on the floor gently holding her on his lap.

Mom was kind of embarassed by Journey’s behavior but also fascinated to watch what was happening.

Finally just before the class was over Journey let out one last tired shriek, yawned, licked the instructor’s face and relaxed in his arms.

There’s a lot more to this story but I gotta stop here for now. Watch for my next Bark to learn about the homework assignment Mom and Journey got that changed their lives.

Finn

Nobody Loves A Dirty Dog

by  • 

Journey

I was killing time on a poetry website yesterday – anything to put off working on my next Bark – when I got lucky and found this strange little poem by a guy named Billy Collins.

“Nobody here likes a wet dog. No one wants anything to do with a dog that is wet from being out in the rain or retrieving a stick from a lake.”

Billy Collins may have once been the poet laureate for the USA, but I could write better doggerel than that. Really!

I got to thinking about some of the most fun times Journey and I have had. There’s often lots of water and mud involved.

After a long walk when we’ve had our fun getting dirty, me and Journey like to stand real close to Mom and shake. Before we get ready to jump in the back of the car, we make sure to rub our muddy selves on her pants.

Once I’m in the car and if I can get away with it, I wrap my paws around her shoulders and give her a big sloppy kiss. She always wriggles away and mutters “Yuck, Finn! Nobody likes a wet dog!”

Liar! Liar!! She loves us no matter how wet and stinky and muddy we are. I know this is true because she’s laughing.

When I was a young pup I thought Mom was serious when she pretended to scold me and Journey for playing in the mud. You can see me in this picture looking real sad like I did something awful.

Right after this picture was taken, Journey told me it was just a game. Us dogs had a very fun time getting dirty and Mom pretended she was mad. No harm, no foul.

Young Muddy Finn

I was sure relieved to learn that Mom wouldn’t ever stop loving me, no matter how filthy I was. The worst thing that could happen after a romp in the mud was she would give me a bath. Not my favorite thing, but better than her being mad at us.

Journey thinks dirt is a good thing. Like in this picture. She says it shows her warrior side – nose dirt from after she dug out and killed a mole. Kinda like how football players paint their faces.

You might think this Bark is sort of frivolous. I wouldn’t argue with that. But I leave you with this serious question to ponder: Can you love a dirty dog?

Dirty Face Journey