Guest Post: A Love Letter to Kiba and and Pyro

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Elise wrote:

Before I adopted ‘William,’ the large white, emaciated German Shepherd from the shelter, I made sure he met a certain set of standards. I made him walk past the cats, which he ignored. I made him walk past the dogs, which he didn’t care for. I even tugged his ears and tail and he tolerated it. I decided then that he was the one I would take home. I had just turned 18 and always lived with dogs but I wanted one that was all mine, one that I would never give up because we were moving or he had some kind of issue. My family has done this to a few other dogs and I wanted to stop the cycle.

So, I brought him home and changed his name to Shiroi Kiba which means ‘White Fang’ in Japanese. After a few months, his weight went from 60 pounds to a healthy 93 pounds, the scar on his face from a dog bite had healed and his energy level increased, in other words he was healthy. I took him to the dog park often and after a few visits we had an issue. A small terrier nipped him in the face and he grabbed the dog by the back and shook him like a toy. I ran and grabbed his collar and he released the dog; he didn’t harm the dog just wanted to send a clear warning.

I began taking him to training classes at the local PetSmart in order to socialize him. After working with him over the past 2 years, I have learned which dogs will trigger him and which dogs he will sniff and ignore.

I became a trainer at PetSmart and that’s when I met my next DINOS. In came Pyro, a large, white animal, he stopped and stared with his golden eyes right at me. I looked to the owner and asked, “Is that what I think it is?” He said, “Yes, he’s a wolf-hybrid.” I asked to pet him and fell in love. I asked the owner, Chris, for his number so that I could practice socializing Kiba with Pyro.

We met up and after the first meeting realized this would be harder than we thought. The second the boys made eye contact they would jump on each other and fight. So, we walked them at a distance and talked about dog behavior and wolves. After the fourth meeting or so the boys realized that fighting would not be tolerated and that they should learn to like each other. Luckily for us, the boys began to chase each other and play wrestle in no time at all.

Chris and I dated and we decided to move in together. We practiced doggie sleep overs to test it out and it went better than expected. They boys moved in together and now have formed a close bond. Pyro began to look up to Kiba, while Kiba learned the joy of squeaky toys from Pyro. I ended up with two DINOS in my house and I realized early on the hassle of walking two large DINOS, especially when I weigh the same as my dogs. I’ve been working on walking them and now I have people commenting on how amazing it is that I can control these two “horses.”

Life wouldn’t be the same without these two boys. Pyro loves to cuddle, whenever Chris leaves the bed, Pyro comes and makes sure I stay warm. Kiba loves to work, he enjoys keeping a look out on the yard and learning new tricks. When it comes to playtime, Pyro always throws his toys in the air and catches them, something which Kiba now does. While playing, Kiba throws his paws up and looks like a crazy, trotting horse. They each have their own quirks and attitudes which make them more endearing to me.

People always stop and ask me how I can handle living with two big ‘monsters,’ my reply is always the same, “A total headache! But the amount of love that they give back makes it totally worth it.” While Pyro and Kiba have issues of their own I wouldn’t give them up for the world. They will be a work in progress for the rest of their lives and I’m happy to be the one working and living with them.

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Goblin

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Melissa wrote:

A Letter to Goblin (AKA Bunnyface, Mishkin, Monster, Babyshkingu, aka my DINOS)

My dearest love,

I will always remember the first time I saw you. I had been searching for months, scouring websites and skulking through shelters and rescues. I met a few that peaked my interest, but I was still looking for The One. Then I found you. Your picture was striking –  strong jaw, piercing eyes, tall, erect ears. You stared straight into the camera, as if to say “Yes, that’s right, I’m The One.”

And oh, you were perfect. Medium sized, black, shiny, wiggly, everything I wanted. You were thrilled to be pet, to play, to kiss. You were even so nice to that little female dog in the run next to yours. “Oh good,” I thought. “You’re nice to other dogs!”  You met Mike and immediately stuck your tongue down his throat. The volunteer walking you thought we were your old owners! Oh, we were so excited for you. We made lists of names, picked out collars and leashes, bought you a bed. You cuddled, played, responded to commands, paid very close attention to us, and were generally amazing.

Flash forward to our first Valentine’s Day. We took you for a walk in the park. There were many other owners enjoying a brisk romantic stroll with their dogs. Remember, you broke away from us and attacked those two boxers?? Oh, the memories. Looking back, I know I pushed you too far, too fast. There were too many dogs, too close, and they just kept on coming. I am so sorry to put you in that position.

But we learned. We bought Gentle Leaders, attached an extra leash just in case. We stopped going to parks, because there were too many loose dogs. You told us what you needed. I walked you before the sun came up, snuck out again while most people were eating dinner. We took the same safe route, boring though it may be, because we knew where the dogs were.. except when they surprised us! Oh, remember when that off-leash greyhound bounded up to us? You made it very clear you did NOT want her skinny little snout up in YOUR face. That’ll teach her.. or at least maybe her owner will think twice about letting her off leash.

I think my personal favorite of all our off leash encounters (numbering 6 in 2 ½ years, I think my energy spent worrying about it makes it happen), was that tiny terrier who ran out of his house as we walked by. He clearly had something to say and wanted you to hear it. After a brief and noisy scuffle, he started to scream, which confused the hell out of you. You actually stopped making a scene, backed off, and cocked your head at him, like, “WHAT are you doing NOW, strange tiny creature?” Turns out neither of you were hurt in the slightest, despite the 30-pound size difference, which made me feel a little better that the love of my life wasn’t actually a violent monster, just a guy who needed a little space.

We’ve been through a lot together, my love. And things just keep getting better. You have friends now, introduced carefully and happily, who you can play with; we are working on your anxiety level and making it clear you are safe and do not need to protect yourself, or me, from the world.  Despite the vet bills, the worry, and the constant effort, I wouldn’t trade you in for anything. Sometimes I watch you sleep, listen to your piggy sounds, and I cry because you are so beautiful and I am so lucky to have you in my life. I will protect you always. Thank you for being my DINOS.

Love Always and Forever,

Your Mama

AKA Melissa Izzo

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Badger

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Monika wrote:

“There’s something wrong with you.” I would mutter to the 12 week old border collie puppy who lay contorted on his back in the middle of the living room. I had been contemplating this for the past two weeks, since I brought him home from the farm where he was born. I’d think to myself that I would need to take him back, he wasn’t right. As a professional dog trainer, admittedly early on in my career I knew that there was something wrong with my new dog.

“I think you’re… delayed.” I’d tell him.

Despite being an obedience instructor myself I decided to take my problem child, the disinterested and far too independent puppy, who rarely wanted to cast a glance in my direction, to a local obedience class, run by a friend, so we would both have some structure in our relationship. By then he was 8 months old and I was at the end of my rope with a dog that refused to be taught, wandered too far, bolted if he got outside without a leash on, and overall just made me feel like the most undesirable owner on the planet and worst dog trainer ever.

 We had completely failed to bond. I did not like him, and he did not like me.

The first day of that class, however, the dog who I thought could not possibly get worse than he already was, was attacked by a loose dog, four times his size, that injured him badly and made him from that point on a DINOS.

He recovered physically in about two weeks, but emotionally and mentally my dog was shot. Attempts to re-socialize with friendly dogs resulted in bad experience after bad experience. While my little man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably doesn’t even know how to snarl, his immediate belly up and pee himself reaction attracted every bully in the vicinity. He’d be pounced on, bit, grabbed, and once he was so blind with terror when a young mix breed tried to play with him that he ran straight off a cliff and required three people to rescue him, bruised and bloodied, from the bottom.

All his confidence and independence was gone, the shift in his personality was devastating for us both, but it created another shift, one in my personality, for the better.

I had spent months being frustrated with him, angry with him, upset at his lack of willingness to please or work or listen or come or follow… the list goes on. In the months that followed I became patient, calm, gentle and forgiving. I backed off on all the things I was trying to push him into, obedience, flyball, agility, and signed him up as a therapy dog for a seniors’ home instead. 

But when I backed off, he stepped up. He started to run in flyball, he learned to stay without running to the nearest small dark hiding place (sure he was 21 months old by the time he did, but I’ll take it!) and he runs his agility courses with a huge grin on his face, even launching himself to a down on a table with other dogs, posing for a group shot.

We still have our days, he still has his fears. He needs my help with new dogs and I spend a lot of time explaining to people that he’s afraid, but he has learned to run to me when he is afraid instead of off cliffs. Fearful puppy barks are a part of his daily vocabulary despite his adulthood and I find myself questioning what he would have been like had this not happened, had I kept him home and kept him safe? On the other hand I also have to wonder where I would be as a dog trainer had he not happened to me, and this not happened to him. Would I be able to help as many DINOS as I have to date? How many dogs might I have turned away as “hopeless” had I not refused to give up hope with my own?

Of course we have our good and bad days, but he’s become affectionate and would now do anything to please me. Best yet, he has helped other DINOS learn to play. So, to this day, I still look at him and say “I think you’re delayed” but now it is with affection instead of despair, and I would never give him back.

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Parker

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Elly wrote:

Dear Parker,

I have been head over heels in love with you since you were exactly one week old.  On Christmas Eve of 2010, I passed a poster that a woman named Emily had tacked to a bulletin board in the local feed store.  I don’t know quite what I felt that day, but I know that fate had drawn me to that poster.  When I dialed Emily’s number, I was so overwhelmed with joy that my hands were shaking and tears were running down my cheeks.  My puppy, I thought, that’s my puppy.  What a spectacle I must have been!

I always wanted to adopt, you know.  But a mixed puppy from a litter of 7, that may or may not have been unplanned, just wasn’t in my blueprints.  I had just been getting into the swing of things as a groomer, and after a devastating break-up with my fiancé (you wouldn’t have liked him anyway!) I knew that you were everything I had ever needed.

I met you when you were three weeks old.  You had the tiniest little pit bull ears I had ever seen!  I told everybody that you were a hamster.  My beautiful brindle boy.  By three weeks, I had already squeaked all of the toys in Petsmart, sniffed dozens of treat bags, and engraved your first ID tag.  You were all I could think about.  When I held you in my arms on Emily’s apartment floor, you fell asleep nibbling on ears, noses, and fingers.

When she called me at 5 weeks and told me that other people were interested and her vet had cleared the puppies to leave, I was stunned.  I wasn’t ready!  I needed a vet, I hadn’t chosen my puppy food, there was no crate… and I hadn’t figured out how to tell my landlord!  Five weeks is far too early to send puppies away from their littermates, even if Hazlenut had rejected you and your brothers.  I was too afraid to ask her to keep you until 8 weeks.  I had the next 10-15 years of my life planned out around yours, and I wasn’t about to give you up.  I picked you up that day, and I greeted you with a blue blankie that still had its tags on.  To this day, you still sleep with your tongue out, snuggled up in blankets and it will always warm my heart.

You turned 1 not too many weeks ago.  You sure haven’t made it easy!  Even though I raised you by my side in the daycare I groomed for, I can see how desperately you try to please me despite being visibly uncomfortable out in public.  “Leave it” was the first command you ever learned.  Leave that stranger, leave that skateboard, leave that pair of poodles…

For months, you walked around with your hackles up everywhere we went just trying to be brave.  I am so proud of you, big boy.  Just last fall we made our usual rounds at the Farmer’s Market and you strutted past all of those children and dogs like you’ve been doing it forever.

I wish you knew that our neighbors’ hearts are in the right place, and that even if some humans don’t respect your space I would never let anything happen to you.  I wish you looked to me before getting upset, and saw the stony determination in my eyes.  Those dogs on that man’s leash don’t have any manners, Parker, but they won’t be getting past me.  Those twin girls want to pet your big, blocky pit bull head, silly, not perform acts of terrorism behind your back.  But they won’t be getting past me, either.

I am your mother, best friend, drill sergeant, and chauffeur.  But most importantly, I am your rock, sword, and shield.  I am tethered to the other end of your leash, keeping you grounded while you sort out your terror.  I am the warrior who keeps the enemies at bay, constantly scouting for space, and ever maintaining crowd control.  I am the mother who decides when you have had enough, and I take my most honored place between you and your fears.

You have taught me patience, communication, and unconditional love.  You have given me the passion to fight, not only for you but for every fearful dog without a voice.  I love you, Parker, and I always will.  May I always be the kind of person that you think I am.

Mom

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Shanoa

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Nicole wrote:

Love.  Devotion.  Enthusiasm. 

My three-year-old Doberman, Shanoa, is a DINOS, and she brings me joy every day.  She came to me as a not-quite-five-month-old puppy, afraid of the whole world.  From day one, I knew that we had a huge challenge ahead of us.  As a young pup Shanoa had no socialization, and didn’t trust anyone or anything.  Walks were a no-go.  New people were a cause for terror.  Kids were scary.  Bicycles and skateboards were monsters.  The only thing she wasn’t afraid of was other Dobermans! 

Luckily, we found help.  It has been (and sometimes continues to be) a huge struggle.  We have used Leslie McDevitt’s “Control Unleashed” methods to help Shanoa with her fears.  Slowly, we were able to help Shanoa with her fears.  We learned techniques to help her feel safe.  We taught her that not only were most things not scary, but most things were awesome (lots of delicious, stinky treats helped!). 

In the nearly three years we’ve lived with Shanoa, she’s been transformed.  My shy, frightened puppy has become a (relatively) normal dog.  The transformation, for us, is nothing short of miraculous.  For the first year and a half that we lived with her, Shanoa never wagged her tail.  I will never forget the first tentative sweeps of her cute little nub as we played outside.  Her nub wags almost non-stop, now.  The most important lesson she’s learned is that she can trust us to protect her. 

Does she appreciate strange dogs in her face?  Absolutely not.  But she knows that I will protect her from them and that she can trust me to make sure she doesn’t need to interact with them.  And that’s my most important job – to protect her.  I do my job, and now she has a job, too. 

Just this past summer, she passed the Delta Therapy Dog evaluation and was registered with the Delta Society as a therapy dog.  She visits hospice patients at various facilities here in Minnesota.  She goes from person to person, giving kisses and wagging her tail, resting her chin on their knees to make sure everyone gets a chance to pet her.

And when we get home, she makes sure to get as close to me as she possibly can, occupying the same space as I am if at all possible, as we relax and watch some TV.  She snuggles with me as much as possible.  She has even figured out how to turn on the electric blanket and get underneath it to stay warm in the Minnesota winter.  Because of her, I’ve gotten involved in our local Doberman rescue, and have been able to help out volunteers with foster dogs who are DINOS. 

Without Shanoa, I wouldn’t be the person I am.  She’s made me a better trainer.  She’s taught me patience.  She’s shown incredible forgiveness for the mistakes I make in training with her.  She approaches everything I ask her to do with enthusiasm, even if it’s something she’d prefer not to do (really?  another down/stay?).  She’s always eager to figure out something new.  She’s made me a better person and she makes me happy every day.

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Scuby

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s some of what Theresa wrote:

To my DINOS Valentine: Scuby ‘don’t touch the hair’ McConville

My DINOS dog and I met quite by accident. I’m paraplegic and diabetic and have had two previous service dogs; one contract trained and the second was a program dog. Both had their joys and their difficulties. When the second dog was lost at 9 years to cancer I was lost to the world. Getting around in a wheelchair requires considerable hand and arm strength and coordination. Wheelchair leash-work requires more hands than I can usually find. Quite literally, without the leash I’d forgotten how to move around. I hated it. I was alone and vulnerable. Not my favorite neighborhood in my head.

My friend needed cat litter and seeing how bummed out I was, insisted that I keep her company on her errand. Soon I found myself in a pet store…on Dog Adoption Day for a foster rescue group. I do love dogs so I had a look around.

Amid the kennels, cages, boxes and x-pens sat a hulk of a collie looking thing. He was quiet and still, ever watchful though calm. His left eye was multicolored and eerie to look at. I introduced my scent, then he laid a gentle glance and a paw reached out, just short of touching my sleeve. I had to know more.

Our first on-lead walk together was in-sync from the very first step. He would not pull, but watched my every move over his shoulder as he picked his way through a retail crowd. I applied as many temperament queries as I could while on the fly and was impressed by his willingness to try anything. I did what I advise others not to do; I decided with my heart and took this gentle spirit home with me. It took me all of 45 minutes to decide.

“Scooby-Doo’s” paperwork listed him as seven years old, recently neutered, Australian Shepherd – St. Bernard mix, cruelty seized and returned by TWO previous adopters because of what the Dumb Friends League referred to as “normal herding behaviors”. There was also a notation written in RED that he should be the only dog in residence!

I’ve been training dogs for decades and have always adjusted the training to suit the dog, so I thought, but after a couple of weeks of settling-in it was apparent my skills weren’t up to the challenge this dog was laying down. He didn’t fit anything I knew. I had to change. The next five years became an evolutionary process for me as a trainer and as it turned out, also as a human being.

Four months with Scuby…he was reactive to everything… And I was suddenly on my own since ‘reactive’ dogs are considered unsuitable by most ‘serious’ trainers. Cowards!

I didn’t understand his fears. I couldn’t make him feel safe, until I made the leap to consider his feelings and offer him better choices. He devised a method of communicating his needs using his stuffed toys. Prancing gaily about with “Bruce” the gray shark in his mouth meant ‘potty’. “Baby” a brown monkey was related to food and “Rudy” the reindeer was for self-soothing from loud noises.

The care-taking role of an alert/service dog seems to morph the human/animal bond and ramps it up to whole different level. Scuby taught me how to reach through fear. There is no greater trust than that.

My bar’s been raised by a dog, again…I will not let anyone forget how this damaged and unsuitable specimen activated the Lifeline device to summon rescue that day I bungled a transfer and knocked myself out in the bathroom.

He’s twelve now. Muscle is retreating from all parts of his body and his senses aren’t as keen. It’s been a couple of weeks since he’s wanted to open the doors for us…The pain of losing him is exquisite simply because he is a DINOS. They’re in our face 24/7 and they need us to be better, softer people. Their very lives depend on it.

I’m afraid that on that day when I venture outside without a leash in my hand, not only will I forget how move my wheelchair again, this time I may forget how to breathe…

 Theresa McConville & Scuby 2012

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Ani

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Shannon wrote:

Ani has done nothing less than change my life. She has slowed me down to a more healthful pace and expanded my capacity to love. One tiny puppy mill breeder momma crawled into my heart and made it bigger.

Ani is a toy Rat Terrier and was the last of 143 dogs rescued from appallingly squalid conditions. She was considered unadoptable because she couldn’t tolerate the slightest human touch. When I was able to take in another foster dog, I went to get her for New Rattitude Rat Terrier Rescue. She was frozen in fear and kept her eye on me from the crate through every hour of the drive home. I was practically grinning during that drive, I was so happy for the opportunity to rehab her. “Blissfully ignorant,” I believe that’s called.

I had rehabilitated many fearful dogs, but what I didn’t know was a lot. I assumed that Ani would be a challenge to housetrain, but I didn’t know that she was the Jackson Pollock of poop. She would poop on the floor of her exercise pen and happily romp through it on the way around her crate. Stopping inside her crate to scratch around in her blanket, she’d tromp back through the poop to excitedly paw at the wire panels. She’d wag her curled tail, dance around, and fling more poop. I cleaned up a lot of signed originals.

I didn’t know that my softly voiced “it’s okay” would be terrifying to Ani. She would run and tremble, frightened out of her mind at hearing the sounds humans had used when she was held down for medical treatments. I didn’t know that would break my heart into a thousand pieces.

I didn’t know that her initial intense interest in me was mostly hypervigilance. Accustomed to speeding through life with far too many entries on my to-do list, I had to learn to be mindful of every move and every sound I made. Suddenly everything I did mattered to this little dog. It mattered how I removed my socks when changing clothes. It mattered how and where and at what angle I sat on the sofa. It mattered that the fork was carefully placed into the sink. Above all, it mattered that my hands came nowhere near her body.

I do know now what joy one little being can bring into a life. I know well the barely-contained thrill of the first baby steps toward bonding. The first touch of a tiny wet nose on my hand. The first happy, bouncy barkfest upon my return home. The first calm look into my eyes. The first tug on my sleeve to play. The first time Ani let me pet her, tears of happiness quietly rolled down my face.

Ani wants to connect, so she’s figured out a way to do that without involving human hands. She “kisses.” She kisses a lot. She kisses to reconnect for every greeting, every good feeling, and every time she needs reassurance. She snuggles into me and gives kisses when I am lying down. Now I can say, “It’s okay,” and she looks at me like maybe it is. I am in awe of her resilience and ability to trust.

I currently have seven terriers living with me, some my own and some foster dogs, and I love all of them. I’ve always learned so much from dogs. But Ani brought some extra magic with her that made me just a little bit better as a person. A little more patient. A little more kind. A little softer. When I think of her, I always feel her in my heart.

New Rattitude gave me a gift by agreeing to let Ani live with me for the rest of her life. Ani gave me the most precious gift of herself.

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Jemma

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Throughout February, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s what Blythe wrote:

Dear Jemma,

We didn’t know that you, our 65lb. pitty mix, were a DINOS when we brought you home from the shelter, all skinny and woozy from the anesthesia from your spay.  Heck, I didn’t know what a DINOS was until just the other day, but once we read about DINOS we knew that was what we have on our hands. 

But… we also have a squiggly-wiggly girl who grumbles contentedly when she has her belly rubbed and “laughs” when she’s tickled under her chin.  We have a tug-o-war champion and enthusiastic hide-and-seek partner.  You’re a girl who loves staring contests with the ‘possums on the fire escape and snores louder than your Daddy.  Yes, you’re a DINOS who loves 6am walks and empty dog runs and slurping my nieces until they fall over laughing.

There are some days when I wish I could bring home a new sister or brother for you from the shelter, and there are some days when I wish we could have a carefree playdate with our friends’ furbabies.  But, at the end of the day when you’re stretched out across both of our laps and you heave a big sigh, we know that you’re the happiest you’ve probably ever been in your tough little life.  And we know we’d do anything for our DINOS and wouldn’t trade you for a million dollars.

LOVE YOU JEMMA!!

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Corky

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s some of what Emily wrote:

White, black and dirt all over. That’s what you looked like when we first met.  I drew the short straw and had to walk the barrier-aggressive new pit in the holding kennel.  I crouched, avoided eye-contact and remained calm as I leashed you up and brought you outside in the rain.

And then it happened. We were outside alone and standing under a big maple tree; the rain steadily dropping around us. The wet droplets landed on your dusty fur and started to cleanse you.  I no longer saw just another dog with an attitude problem. I saw you and I fell in love.

You passed your behavioral evaluations and we learned you couldn’t become small enough in the presence of men, children frightened you and you would probably shred a cat in an instant. But we were to find you a new home.  Months later most had lost hope. But I had love for you and if I hadn’t loved my cats, I would have brought you home.

Your barrier aggression got worse, and worse; kennel life did not suit you, and you did not present well. You were scaring people and the Board of Directors was notified…and the pending big “E” was a reality. I wouldn’t let it happen. We went to work. We learned agility, you got extra training time, socialization time, anything to get you out of the kennel.

And it worked. One sunny day, Mason brought in his parents and wanted to play with you (you do have a knack for playing with other pups that was irresistible to watch – it was like you had a crush on any dog you got to play with). You had a new friend, and a new family to love you. I cried, the volunteers cried, and I cried some more. I was so happy for you, but I still have an aching spot in my heart where you sit.

You were my first true love, and you were a DINOS.  It was my job to protect you.  We learned to arch, about turn, and let my voice carry over a grassy knoll to ‘warn’ people of your need for space and that they should inquire about you inside…You were my first DINOS (the first of many) and we learned together.  You were a star and I had to help others see that or there were major consequences.  In the end we succeeded.

No dog will ever be like you. No dog will ever capture my heart the way that your smile did.  And certainly kisses will never feel the same coming from another snout. But I comfort myself with the knowledge that you have a new best friend and a new mommy and daddy that love you just as much as I do.

His name is Corky. He is my greatest success story.

Guest Post: A Love Letter to Zisso and Nadia

In celebration of Valentine’s Day, I asked readers to write a love letter to their DINOS and picked a winning essay.  Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing all of the entries.

Here’s some of what Bev wrote:

After letting my German Shepherd mix, Miss Lizzy go to the RainbowBridge, I swore I would not have another dog. It was hard on my family as my grandchildren had grown up with her and I did not want to go through letting another go.  Three months later, I was twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do.

My  house was too clean. The cats were in a world of their own, and I certainly could not play frisbee with them! I came to realize that I was lonely. The house had an air of emptiness to it, and my life had a huge void. I knew at that moment, that I needed a new friend to take for walks and play with and train and snuggle with and all the glorious joys that a dog brings us. So I began searching.

First I looked at rescues, but quickly found that I would not qualify due to not having my yard fenced. Miss Lizzy always knew her boundaries and I had never needed a fence. I was surfing Craig’s List one afternoon, and saw an ad with a photo of two 16 month old German Shepherds that needed new homes. I called the lady and made arrangements to go meet them…

One, who I learned was called Vito, was fairly large and the other, Zisso was a bit smaller. Zisso was friendly but stayed back a bit.  After spending some time with the pair of them, I knew in my heart that Zisso had to be mine. He was gentle and sweet – loving and tender. I agreed to take this little man home with me. My friend and I fenced off my back yard and Zisso was settled in nicely. It was February of 2009.

In June 2009, I had been on a forum dedicated to German Shepherds and the members posted links to other dogs in need all the time. I would casually surf the PetFinder site often. Then I saw this girl who was local and also in need of a home.  Again I made arrangements with the people to go meet the dog…at the end of the hour visit, this long coated 16 month old girl was going home with me.

Meeting Zisso went great and the two seemed to form an instant bond. They loved running in the yard together and to this day, have only had a handful of squabbles. I have to say, this is much like having twins. Their birthdates are only 3.5 months apart. Both dogs are great with the cats and Nadia especially, as she lets the Old Fat Cat rub and snuggle every single day.

In the beginning when I had them both as newly adopted dogs, it was a goal for me to be able to walk them together…In my walks with Zisso, I often come across loose dogs that feel the need to run up to us…and Zisso’s first reaction is to growl and lunge. It is much different if he is allowed to meet properly, but loose dogs are extremely unwelcome in our space.

I have been ever so grateful for the DINOS site for educating the public with the fact that while our dogs are not good with others, that we too deserve to enjoy a nice walk. Because of Zisso’s reactions to other dogs we often step off the trails or sidewalks to let others pass. Knowing that we are not the only ones makes it easier to wrap my head around and to relax more and focus on having a good fun time with both of my babies. We have even found a place where we can run safely off leash. Despite everything, I am super vigilant about making sure we are in a safe place to enjoy our activities.

They have definitely filled my tiny little house with joy and love, and laughter…lots of laughter. They are my world!

Bev and the Long Coats and their kitties