Fall 1995 - September 1, 1996

A Dedication to our departed friend Lakota!!
Our prayers are with you Bob Deeds!!

The following is Bob's own description of Lakota.

Lakota (Wolf-Dog) is my only non-rescue baby. She came to me at 12 weeks and 32 pounds. She now lives with us in spirit as she passed away on September 1, 1996. (I will always speak of her in the present tense!) I got a female because there would be less chance of a dominance issue. Other than a few jealousy squabbles in the beginning, it's worked out really well. She loves to howl and has taught both Bo and Ced to do so. Quite nicely, I might add. (Bo sometimes sounds like he's going through puberty!) She also loves to dig up the yard, spread my camping gear all over the yard, and tear up any "foreign" objects left in the yard (such as lawn chairs and yard tools). Chasing Ced and sparring with Bo are at the top of her "to do" list. She also has her own wading pool. She gets in it and moves her paws like she is swimming. ( I still haven't figured out where she is swimming too.) She also likes to carry the cat around by the scruff of her neck, of course, the bigger Lakota's mouth gets, the more it goes from "scruff of the neck" to whole head. The cat walks around with this wet ,Phyllis Diller, kind of hair dew...

 

Prayer for Lakota

Dear God,
Please watch over my Wolf Dog, Lakota.
She left me before I was ready.
Have her meet with Zeiko,

My little black Chow,
Who is there to show her the way.
Also, let her meet Henry Big Fellow,
My brother's hound,

Who is surely there by now.
And, don't forget Spotty, my first,
Who will be the wisest of them all.
And, Becky, my sister's Poodle,

Will be there to run and play.Lord,
Let Lakota run through heavenly fields,
Unencumbered, by any fences.
Let her run 'till the wind
Puts tears in her eyes,
Blurring her vision in kaleidoscope colors.
Let her spar with Zeiko and Becky

So she won't miss Bo and Ced.
(...For they miss her very much.)
Let her howl at her hearts content!
Not a melancholy lonely howl,
But one of joy and peace.
And God,
If you would be so kind,

Please let her meet my Dad,
Who I miss, even today.
Let him rub her tummy
And scratch her rear

And talk to her each day.
And most of all, God,
Would you please tell Lakota

How much she will always be missed.
For, from this day forward,
I'll always belong,
Forever...Owned by Lakota

Bob Deeds
Forever...Owned by Lakota

.

Your eyes, so far away now, pain a gulf
that separates us.
Your fear a knife in my heart.
You are waiting for me
to release you.
I beg your patience, I need a little longer,
I don’t want to be left here without you.

I am waiting, my tears cannot help you,
I can find no comfort, no solace.
I would gladly go in your place,
but the gods will make no bargains today,
and so I make a vow
out of the bitter knowledge of despair.
If I must see you go,
I will rage at the impervious gods,
I will cry out to them night after black night
until I have no voice but a whisper of grief.

I hear them calling to you,
the sweet voices of your ancestors
sing out over my cries of protest.
Their joyful howls sweeping away your pain,
leaving only mine.
The endless trail they run leads to a place
beyond grief, beyond death.
You have earned a right to that place.
You stayed just long enough
to teach me that this place is real,
that it waits for us.

So I hold you now with an open hand,
my arms are not big enough to hold your pain,
my soul stretches wide,
a hole opens up in my aching heart
to set you free.

I am blessed still by your eyes,
the communion of love we shared
guides me as you are guided now,
as you go to take your place.

Your song joins theirs,
filling the sky with love and a beauty
terrifying to behold.

I sit under the stars and listen,
I am burning with love and pain
as I wish you safe journey
and good-bye.

Annie B.

The Waiting Place
By Cindy Frank

A friend once told me about a dream. Perhaps you have had the dream, too.

You're looking at a peaceful meadow. A little stream flows on one side and beyond the gently rolling hiss you see treetops. The sun is shining and a cool breeze ruffles the tall grass and flowers. Then you see a dog walking into the scene. Not just any dog, YOUR dog - the one who died despite all your efforts to save him, the one you think about every single day. No longer old or sick, he looks as he did in his prime, eyes bright and coat shining, but he seems nervous and apprehensive, and he pauses often to scan his surroundings and sniff the air. Then he becomes stiffly alert, head and ears up.

You follow his gaze and discover a groups of dogs, trotting purposefully towards him. there is no feeling of animosity - the approaching dogs are wagging their tails and you sense their amused tolerance of two puppies who careen through the group in an endless puppy-chase game. As the dogs approach, you realize that you know many of them. Some of them belonged to you and some are dogs who lived with your neighbors and friends. And you slowly understand that all of them are dogs who have died.

Most of the group stops a little distance away, but one continues to approach. Your dog feels somewhat less apprehensive but is still very confused. Then the group leader addresses him by name in a formal welcome. It seems natural in your dream that you can understand their communication with each other, not by hearing, but simply by knowing.

"We have been expecting you," the leader says. "We wondered when you would arrive."
"How did I get here?" your dog responds. "I don't remember anything about traveling here. The last I knew I was sick, but I don't seem to be sick now. What's happening to me?"
"Nothing is happening now," says the leader. "There's nothing to worry about - you'll like it here. We're all friends and we're glad to see you."
"But what are we doing here? What is this place?"
By now the group has drawn near, and one young female say, "There are lots of things to do. I can run for hours and hours if I feel like it, and I've never yet found a fence."
Another dog chimes in, "And there are exciting trails to follow if you feel like hunting!"
"But most of the time," says the leader, "we wait. That is really what this place is. . .a waiting place."
"Waiting place? What do you mean?" asks your dog. 'What are we waiting for?"
"Why, we're waiting for our owners!" one dog replies.
The others add their comments in a confused medley. "Yes, my owner is going to come." "My owner wants to pet me and play with me again." "I think my owner will come very soon!"
Your dog listens to them and looks from one to another. He doesn't want to be rude, and he certainly doesn't want to dash their hopes, yet, it seems such a strange idea, almost too good to be true. He wonders how they can be SO SURE their owners will come.
"Our owners have always come for us, just as your owner has always done.
He would never just leave you, so he hasn't left you now. Our owners come to get us just as soon as they can, and yours will come too," says the leader.
"Sometimes we have to wait a long time," he continues, "but one day is much like another here, and we have a comfortable, happy place to spend our time while we're waiting. Every day some of us leave, and we each know that our own special day will arrive too."
Your dog listens and understands, then he joins the group as they move across the meadow towards the little stream. He seems happy and content, ready to settle into his new life, waiting for the day when you will come to get him.

Cindy Hunt, author of this beautiful piece, passed away in December, 1994.
Her son, Michael Hunt, has graciously granted us permission to publish "The Waiting Place." We appreciate the true gift this touching essay brings to dog lovers.

"The Waiting Place was first published in "Belgian Shepherd Dogs in America," June 1987. Guardians of Wildlife has been given permission to reprint from "Fetch the Paper," Spring 1995, Issue 12, Pawprince Press, 815 Clark Road, Marblemount, Washington 98267

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