I’ve always been told that a dog comes into your life for a reason, and that was so true of my JJ. She came into my life at 14-months old from a breeder who wanted to re-home her and who decided I would be perfect for her.

JJ took over my home within a few weeks along with my other golden retriever Chase.

Over the years JJ had two knee surgeries, so I decided to try K9 nose work with her– which she was really good at. With classes and nose work trials, we became a real team and developed a tight bond. JJ loved everyone she met. And everyone loved her.

Our last nose work trial was shortly before JJ would have turned eleven. We worked hard and earned our NW3 Elite title. I couldn’t have been happier or more proud of my JJ. My birthday was the next day and this was the best gift ever!

I was still riding high from our accomplishment a week later when JJ woke me up early on a Sunday morning coughing and with labored breathing. I rushed her to the emergency vet to learn she had a cardiac hemangiosarcoma–an aggressive cancerous mass attached to her heart that was slowly rupturing and bleeding.

I was devastated and heartbroken that my best friend was going to die from this. Right away.

JJ lived a few more days. My vet helped her into her next journey and as she drifted off,  her head was in my lap as I told her how much I loved her.

Two-and-a-half years later, I’m still heartbroken. And I know that for as much as I’ve loved all my dogs, there was just something special about JJ that I can’t put into words. She was my once-in-a-lifetime dog. I miss her dearly.

– Carol Minot

When I look at you
I see a soft blue-gray haze,
Like the one that hovers over the Great Smoky Mountains,
In the place where your eyes used to be.

You lift your chin
In the way you used to do,
Sensing my presence with your canine radar.
But your imaginary gaze
Misses the mark of my face by a few degrees.
I call your name.
“Jake!” “Come, Jake, come!”
“Come on, Jakey!”
“Come to Mummy!”
Your head cocks left then right
Then left again.
Do you hear something, anything?
Or do your paws pick up the vibrations
Of my vocal cords
Leaving you wondering where the sound went.

If I shout loud enough
And with a high enough pitch
The spark of recognition puts a spring in your step
And you come running.
So I keep up the sound in a steady beat,
A vocal beacon for you to follow
Into my waiting arms.

We never had to teach you
How to catch the treats we tossed in the air.
That was all you!
You’d pass every test –
Higher, further, even a false start to throw off your timing.
But now the bone-shaped kibbles
land on your head or back
Then bounce to the floor
As your clouded eyes search in vain.

Even your nose is failing you,
Unable to detect the scattered pieces.
So we hold them just below your nostrils
And touch them to your waiting mouth
As it opens so eagerly to receive this gift.

We watch as you approach the nearest sofa or chair,
Always wanting to be as close to us as possible.
Your chin feels for the height
As your muscles calculate the effort needed.
“You can do it, Jake,” we say encouragingly.
Then wonder if we are tempting you to your doom.
But we don’t want you to give up
Any more than we want to give up on you.
Today, your old bones meet the challenge
But who knows what tomorrow brings.

Others may make the same claim
But you ARE the best dog in the world;
Sensing our tears before they reach our eyes
And comforting us with a rested chin
Or the slow persistent stroke of your paw,
Letting us smother our grief
In the curls of your soft black fur.

You have been there
For all the losses that have come our way
Giving and receiving love
When we needed it most.

We will be there for you
For whatever time you have left.
But who will be our comfort
When the loss we grieve is yours?

– Debra Rose Brillati

The late March sunshine warms my face as I cross the parking lot. The sky is a dazzling shade of Carolina blue, and I notice the apricot trees are beginning to blossom. Around the corner, construction equipment moves mounds of dirt while humming a soundtrack for the expansion project underway.

Today I leave work early to meet my husband and one of our dogs for a picnic. Traffic is light and I take deep breaths of spring air as I drive with the windows cracked open. At home I collect a blanket, several cups, sparkling cider and a bottle of champagne. I leave the grocery store with fruit and cheese and, impulsively, a small bouquet of hyacinths. I glance at the clock and review a mental check-list as I get back into the car; I want to make sure that I will be on time and that every detail will be perfect.

I arrive before David and busy myself cleaning smudges from my sunglass lenses. My phone is fully charged and ready to play a song I downloaded yesterday. I arrange the blanket, taking care to choose a flat spot so we can all sit comfortably. Our dog, Jenny, explores the smells and textures of the freshly cut grass as she slowly leads me around the field. When David arrives, he embraces me in a long hug and pours a generous serving of champagne for each of us. We rest our hands on Jenny’s soft fur, sipping our drinks and sitting in companionable silence as time passes by. We open a container of strawberries and unwrap some cheese. We laugh about the time Jenny knocked a pizza off the counter and gobbled up two whole slices before anyone could stop her.

I am surprised by how much I am enjoying this picnic.

Dr. McFadden finds a spot on the blanket and Jenny wags her tail, welcoming the kind oncologist we have visited countless times during the last 6 years. I see the gift Dr. McFadden carries with her – a scoop of meat sandwiched between two giant cookies, garnished with teddy grahams and M&Ms, topped with rainbow sprinkles and dripping with gravy. She calls this concoction a Cat Food Sundae and Jenny eats it with almost as much enthusiasm as those pizza slices from years ago.

A few tears form but I brush them away. I promised myself I would not cry in front of Jenny today.

I rub Jenny’s tummy and ask a few questions. I finish my champagne and use my phone to cue the song I downloaded yesterday. I kiss Jenny on her polka-dotted nose while David strokes her ears. I lower my sunglasses and rest my forehead against Jenny’s forehead as the music sings her to sleep. When the music stops, I slip a card under Jenny’s right paw and I lay the hyacinths next to her. Dr. McFadden folds the blanket around Jenny and softly says “I can’t believe she is gone.”

Now I allow myself to cry. A leisurely afternoon of sunshine and snacks and laughter and music and love. Hot tears burn my eyes and brand my heart. Every detail was perfect.

Today is beautiful.

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Dakota Blount aka Bear, of Phoenix, Md., peacefully crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Wednesday, March 10, 2021, in the arms of her Mom. 

Born of AKC german shepherd parents on October 31, 2006 in Boyers, Pennsylvania. Dakota was a surprise present to her Mom for Christmas 2006, arriving wearing a festive red and green bow in a big box. She was adorable and so funny with her flopping puppy ears. 

Dakota Bear is survived by loving family members —  Pamela Blount, devoted Dad Steve Bond, Natasha Blount, Frank Blount III, Kady Blount, Zoe Blount, Fergie Blount, Gramps, and many aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. She was predeceased by her Grandpa Frank, and 3 canine sisters Kayla, Roxy, Lily and Puddy, a feline sister. All, except Puddy…(moody), greeted her with “wiggle butt” at the bridge.  

Dakota Bear was a wise, beautiful, sweet, kind, gentle girl who sniffed the good in all humans and creatures.  She loved — giving kisses, taking naps, liver treats, car rides with windows down, shopping at Petsmart and Pet Expo, Dogfest, visiting family and friends,  dining at sidewalk cafes, trail hikes, bird watching, chasing squirrels and deer, catching snowballs and bubbles, wagon pulls, water sprinklers, playing the “find it” game and toy favorites…oinking “Pig” and squeaky “Monster”. She loved life. 

It was remarkable to see the trust our 2 tiny chihuahuas and 2 Yorkies had in her at 120 lbs. They all sat close and often snoozed together. She was gentle. It was a fun home on 4 acres to run and play… where shedded hair was a condiment,  dogs wore clothes and Halloween costumes— at Christmas, matching red stockings embroidered with their names hung from the fireplace mantle. 

She was a devoted companion with expressive and deep soulful eyes. She rescued her Mom on the darkest of days…by her side through loss and grief, heartaches, moves, and illness. Once, she even saved a helpless injured duck from a fox attack at 3 am. She was noble. She was majestic.  She was brave. She was respected. She was loved. 

Dakota was lost to Degenerative Myelopathy, a progressive incurable canine disease of the spinal cord. Similar to “Lou Gehrigs Disease”, also called: ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. She courageously fought a long hard battle. 

“We will miss you everyday. We will miss your kisses. We will always remember your unconditional love and gentleness. Now go run free girl…run free…run, run, run!” – Momma

In lieu of flowers, in her memory, the family asks that you take your furbaby for a long walk or a car ride and give an extra treat and belly rub in her memory.

DAKOTA “BEAR” BLOUNT

10/31/2006 – 3/10/2021

Submitted by Pamela Blount 

 

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I wrote this as a Facebook post the day my Pug passed away September 30, 2018. I adopted Georgie when she was 3 years old from a pug rescue organization. I quickly realized she had a gift of lighting up people and she especially loved kids. I registered her as a Therapy Dog and volunteered with her for the next 5 years. Georgie passed away just shy of 8 years due to complications from seizures.

“Attached below with Georgie’s photo is a Poem I wrote late one night earlier this month when I was up sitting thru one of Georgie’s seizures. The loss of Jackson (my other dog that passed away 3 months earlier) still so fresh in our minds. Then to struggle with Georgie’s sudden illness has just torn me apart.

I reflect on all the stories people have told me, have told Georgie, as we visited people at hospitals, parks, just walking in public & being stopped to kiss her on the head just because she was a Pug and she was Georgie. Just yesterday I was out with her and a “gentle giant” a older man 7 feet tall, with a walking stick to his shoulder. He stopped to visit with Georgie and spent a good 10 minutes telling us about the Pug he had for 14 years. Georgie never shied or seemed alarmed at the very tall man or his walking stick. She just listened and made him smile. All the children, hundreds, that she brought a brief moment of peace to in their troubled lives, the joy of weekly visits with Georgie for them.

I am so grateful for my Veterinarian who cried on the phone with me today, she was out of state but was still here for us. She said “It’s just shitty”. And she said “I know how much you loved Georgie and I think I loved her just as much”. All the people at the ER who held her through all of the treatments trying to find an answer. Georgie, we were there for you today as you have been for all of us.

#georgiethepug”

 

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