My Very Good, Very Bad Dog

by Amy Newmark

  She is no longer a “good for nothing but love” dog in our eyes, our children’s eyes, or in the eyes of anyone else who has heard about the heroic way she saved the “dad” she loves so much!

  ~Bette Haywood Matero

  Amazing Onyx

  Fun fact: Many dogs love water, but not all breeds can swim. Bulldogs, for instance, don’t swim well. Pool owners should make sure their fences are dog-proof.

  She was the prettiest Lab puppy we had ever seen, and the whole family immediately fell in love with her. We named her Onyx because of her thick, shiny black coat. She spent her first vacation with us when she was only ten weeks old and had her first bath and swim in the St. Lawrence River. We had no clue that this amazing little ball of fur would end up being our hero.

  As she got older, Onyx learned to fish. Standing perfectly still while waiting patiently in the clear, shallow water, she’d carefully watch a smallmouth bass dart around her feet until she dunked her head underwater and, amazingly, caught one in her mouth without leaving a tooth mark. We taught her the concept of “catch and release.”

  Onyx was also a wonderful hunting dog, never afraid to show up her larger, more mature counterparts. She would not hesitate to crash through the ice on a tributary of the Chesapeake Bay in order to retrieve waterfowl. She braved the defensive posture of a hissing, wounded goose to bring it back to her master. She loved being by her master’s side, whether in a duck blind or riding in the front seat of the pickup truck.

  Onyx smiled. It was a real people-like smile, but it intimidated those who didn’t know her. Strangers misunderstood the showing of her teeth until they saw the upturn of her lips. If she was happy and content, Onyx smiled.

  When she wasn’t hunting, Onyx enjoyed all our family activities. On hot summer days, when the humidity was oppressive, Onyx enjoyed floating on the river with us in her own inner tube. Resting her front legs and paws over the edge of the rubber tube, her eyes would droop shut as she floated until she’d had enough of the warm sun on her black coat. Occasionally, Onyx floated with us while standing on a huge tractor tire tube that had been inflated just for her. Amazingly maintaining a four-point stance on the top of the tube, she smiled while showing off her perfect balance.

  One hot day, our eighteen-year-old daughter, Margie, announced she was going to swim across the bay. No one in the family was free to go with her. The unwritten rule, regardless of swimming ability, was to have a buddy in the water with you, especially when swimming the width of the bay. Margie never argued about that rule even though she had been an accomplished member of a swim team for many years.

  Her father said, “Take Onyx with you.”

  Having heard her name, Onyx roused from a nap, ready for action.

  “Go with Margie,” he said to the dog.

  Margie beckoned to the dog with a hand signal. Onyx trotted to the water next to her.

  They entered the chilly river together and swam side by side across the bay. I watched from the deck as they reached the sandbar on the far shore.

  Margie stood and smoothed her wet hair back from her face. They rested a few minutes before diving into the water for the return trip.

  I felt uneasy for some reason and continued to watch the pair swim side by side. Then I heard Margie struggle, calling out, “I have a cramp!”

  Onyx began swimming circles around her, sensing her distress. Margie was trying to massage the cramp, but began struggling in the water. I ran to the dock, got into the boat and started untying the ropes wrapped around the dock cleats.

  Onyx knew Margie was in trouble. She came up behind and to the side of Margie, poking her head underneath the girl’s right arm.

  Margie desperately grabbed onto Onyx’s collar. Onyx began digging deep, slicing through the water with her webbed paws, swimming with every ounce of strength to bring both of them back to the dock.

  Watching the drama, I realized I didn’t need to take out the boat. I simply waited until the pair approached me. Calling out encouragement to both my daughter and my dog, as they got closer I extended an oar to Margie. She grabbed it and held onto it with one arm while the other gripped our heroic dog’s collar. Onyx had brought our girl to the safety of the shore where her father and I could help her get out of the water.

  Onyx jumped up onto the dock and shook vigorously several times. After Margie was wrapped in a large towel, she lowered herself to the grassy front lawn to rest. Onyx eagerly ran to her, covering her face with sloppy dog kisses. Wrapping our arms around both of them, we praised our amazing dog and gently tousled Margie’s wet hair. Everyone was grateful for their safe return to shore.

  Later in the afternoon, Onyx got an extra treat. She didn’t quite understand all the fuss; she just wanted to jump off the dock again and swim around in the bay.

  During subsequent family gatherings at the summerhouse, we’d reminisce and lift our glasses to our amazing Onyx and the day she became a hero.

  ~Nancy Emmick Panko

  Because of Kasey

  Fun fact: Shelby was named the 45th Skippy Dog Hero of the Year for saving a family from carbon monoxide poisoning by waking them up and getting them safely outside.

  “Hey, I like your car!” Karen said, as the new hybrid pulled smoothly into the driveway.

  She walked up to its front door, smiling, as her husband, Paul, rolled down the window. “I know! Thanks. It is so quiet and smooth, I love it,” he said, and then pulled into the garage.

  After they shut all of the garage doors, they walked inside where Kasey, their six-year-old Golden Retriever, greeted them with a smile.

  “Kasey hasn’t even memorized the sound of the motor yet, with it being so quiet.” Paul grinned as he set down his things from work and gave Kasey a good scratch behind the ears.

  Kasey had come into their lives as a six-week-old puppy, adopted from a neighbor who was moving and had an unwanted litter. Their daughter, Julie, adopted one of the puppies and gave it to her boyfriend, Chris. Chris and Julie taught Kasey good manners, took her on duck-hunting trips, and taught her to retrieve. But college rolled around, and they had to leave. Kasey would have to go to Chris’s parents’ house and live outside.

  Karen could not stand the thought of Kasey being outside — even if it was in a big yard with shade trees. After a week, she brought Kasey home to live with her forever. Kasey loved their new routine of rides to the bank (for dog treats), the groomer’s, coffee-shop patios. Kasey grew into a beautiful dog who never exhibited annoying behaviors; she never even barked.

  Except that night. As they ate dinner and talked about their day at work, Kasey kept coming up to them and staring right into their eyes. “Go lie down,” Paul said. “I’m trying to eat.” Kasey turned away and put her chin on Karen’s lap, staring.

  “What do you want? More food?” Karen asked, getting up to pour more kibble in the metal dish. Kasey sniffed, and then walked away.

  “Kasey, no! Stop scratching your toenails on the brand-new hardwood floor!” Karen groaned from the couch after dinner. Paul and Karen turned their heads to Kasey, who was digging at the floor. Kasey ran to the garage door, whimpering.

  “What does she want? She always goes out the front door,” Paul mused, flipping the newspaper.

  “I have no clue. I’ll let her out the front. Come on, Kasey!” Karen exclaimed with her hands up. As soon as she let Kasey out and was back on the couch, Kasey started scratching on the front door. “She is driving me insane!”

  Kasey’s strange (and annoying) behavior continued all the way to bedtime. As they crawled into bed, Kasey started barking hysterically. At that moment, they knew something was up, since she normally never barked. So, they crawled out of bed and followed Kasey, still barking, down the stairs, across the kitchen and to the garage door. They opened the door, flipped on the lights, and gasped. Their hybrid car was still on, leaking extremely dangerous carbon monoxide!

  They hurried to turn off the car, and then opened the garage doors and windows to ai
r it out. Paul had thought the car was off because of the quiet motor. This car just so happened to have the new key technology in which if the keys were near the car, the car stayed on. When he drove their old car, Paul had made it a habit to put the keys on the windshield when the car was parked in the garage so he wouldn’t lose them. When he pulled in earlier that evening, he had tossed his keys up on the windshield as he had with the old car.

  After everyone was safe, Kasey finally fell asleep, satisfied that her job was done well.

  Now, fifteen years later, as Paul and Karen’s granddaughter, I think about what could have happened. I am certain that Kasey saved their lives and impacted generations to come, like me.

  Because of Kasey, this story has a happy ending.

  ~Emily Huseman, age 13

  Micah Is My Hero

  Fun fact: Like people, guide dogs have specific times when they’re on and off the job. Usually, when they’re at home and off their harness, they can relax and just be a dog.

  One lunch hour, I told my secretary I was leaving for lunch and would be going to the bank on my way back. The day was grey, drizzly and cold.

  I grumbled under my breath about the weather, but I was grateful because Micah, my constant and loyal companion, was by my side. Micah is my Leader Dog for the Blind; he is excellent in leading me, staying focused, and guiding me with the directions I give to him.

  But Micah is no ordinary Leader Dog. He is a Royal Standard Poodle and extremely intelligent. That also means he is a thinker, and sometimes very stubborn. Poodles are not usually used as guide dogs, but my husband has asthma and allergies, so a non-shedding poodle was the best choice.

  On the way back to work, the weather turned worse. The wind had picked up and the drizzle turned into a cold rain. Micah and I picked up our pace in order to get back into the warm shelter of our building.

  I pulled the hood strings a little tighter around my neck and the top of my hood fell down over my eyes. Not being able to see anyway, I didn’t mind, and I gave Micah the command to proceed straight ahead. We arrived at the corner. Micah halted, and then took one step back. I knew we needed to be cautious because we were at a very busy intersection. I stretched one foot forward, located the curb, and tapped it confidently (which indicates to Micah that I am safe and understand his movement). Together, we stood at the curb, ready to continue our journey. Micah and I communicate well with one another, both verbally and with little body movements and gestures, which gives me the self-confidence I need to live an independent lifestyle. I love Micah, and I felt proud to have him standing at my side as we waited for the light to change.

  I began to listen to the traffic to determine the direction in which it was moving and to judge the status of the traffic light. When I gave Micah the signal, he would move forward.

  As I waited, Micah became restless at my side. Noises in the surrounding area and the voices in my head began to crowd my brain, lulling me into a weary, tired state as the rain continued to fall. I felt Micah’s body pulling slightly forward, and I instinctively allowed him to take one step forward as I followed in a state of semi-consciousness. We stepped out into the familiar street to cross to the other side. But Micah pushed me more to the right, and sleepily, I moved right.

  With the noise and voices fading in my brain but still lulling me into a semi-conscious state of obedience, I continued to walk across the street with Micah as my guide. Somehow, I began to realize that I should have come to the opposite corner sooner. I raised my foot a little higher so as not to trip on the curb. Micah then pulled me a little left, stopped, and then pulled back. I stopped, put out my foot, and felt something I thought was the curb, so I began to step up onto the sidewalk. But, to my surprise, I found it to be some kind of hard object I needed to step over.

  Stumbling a bit, my senses awakened. Micah gave me a slight pull again, and we continued to advance more slowly as he felt my nervousness in each step. Finally, Micah pulled back hard and I stopped, sticking out my foot to find a higher-than-usual curb. Micah inched forward and up against my hip, and I stepped up onto the sidewalk, which was not level at all! Micah stepped up and stood quietly beside me with no movement. I urged him forward. Nothing! In a louder and more demanding voice, I said, “Okay, Micah, turn, find the street, and let’s get back to work. Come on, let’s go!” Nothing!

  Micah sat down and refused to move in any direction. By this point, I was completely confused and had nowhere to go.

  Within a few moments, a man’s voice cut through the silence. “Madam, can I approach you?”

  I answered, “Yes, please do! Micah will not hurt you; he is my Leader Dog.”

  The man stood beside me, urging me to move back slightly. He explained that the whole area was under construction, and the road was all torn up. Instead of taking me from one corner across to the other corner, then turning and going across the street to the other corner where we needed to be, Micah took me diagonally straight through the middle of the intersection, around a deep, huge hole, over a big pipe and safely to the corner where we needed to end up.

  The man’s voice was soft and kind, but had a bit of a laugh in it. “Your dog is amazing! He knew exactly how to manipulate you through, around, and over the many dangerous obstacles that were in your path. Watching you both was an eye-opening experience for all of us!” Several individuals started to talk to me and ask all kind of questions.

  I could not be angry or upset with Micah because he thought he was doing what he was supposed to do. He did do an amazing job of taking care of me and guiding me through the construction site. I was the one not paying attention to keep him on the right track. We both have to work together to make a great team. Micah remains my hero — he loves me unconditionally, he keeps me safe, and he gives me the freedom and independence to do what I want to do on my own.

  ~Lynn Fitzsimmons

  Wonder Puppy

  Fun fact: For dogs that don’t fear umbrellas, people can purchase a wearable “pet umbrella” to keep Fido dry when he’s outside.

  Young and just married, we’d moved into our first home. It was small, run-down, and in a marginal neighborhood, but it was close to where I attended graduate school and an easy commute to my husband’s job. It boasted a patch of green yard that we called the “back forty.” Now all we needed was a dog.

  At the Humane Society, we picked out the one puppy that seemed “mellow” to us, as we weren’t sure how well we’d cope with “rambunctious.” We took her home to our bungalow and put her in the tiny garden amid the lavender and nasturtiums. There she sat, and then she lay down. Mellow didn’t begin to cover it. Unaware that this was not normal puppy behavior, we thought she was lovely. We debated various names, and decided that “Hot Tub” best reflected our puppy’s zen-like vibe.

  Of course, when I took Hot Tub for her first veterinary check-up, the kind doctor explained why our pet had such low energy: worms, infections, and some other disease… I don’t remember the exact diagnosis, but I remember the bill. We were appalled. But we paid the vet and bought the medications, and before long, Hot Tub was wearing her moniker with a big dose of irony. We were learning to cope with rambunctious after all.

  We knew nothing of Hot Tub’s genetic heritage, but it was soon apparent that she had descended from a line of vigilant watchdogs. She leapt onto the couch to keep watch out the big front window and barked at every person who walked by. She barked extra for people with strollers. Or hats. She barked at dogs, bikes, motorcycles and birds. She even barked at moths. We tried to quiet her because we were worried she’d bother our neighbors.

  Her worst enemy was Umbrella. The first rainy day when I tried to walk Hot Tub while holding an umbrella, I thought she’d lost her mind. She barked, ran in circles at the end of her leash, and charged at me. Finally, I realized she was attacking my umbrella. She didn’t stop until I closed it. We finished our walk with rain pelting my head.

  Each time I left for classes, I assured Hot Tub I’d return soon. I m
ade sure she had her comfy bed, plenty of water and her favorite rope chew toy. Then I closed the kitchen door to keep her in the linoleum-floored room where she’d be safe and quiet.

  One afternoon about a month after Hot Tub had moved in, a secretary from the registrar’s office hurried over as I was leaving class.

  “There was a 9-1-1 call at your house,” she said. “Some kind of emergency.”

  I jumped on my bike and sped down the hill, tearing through intersections and passing cars in my rush to get home.

  A police cruiser sat in our driveway, lights blinking blue. I raced up the front steps, unlocked the door and rushed straight for the kitchen.

  Hot Tub greeted me there with gleeful wiggling. She wagged. She squealed. She whined. She squirmed. She rolled over for a belly rub. She barked.

  Next to her on the kitchen floor was our fancy new landline phone with a big red button that had been pre-programmed for making emergency calls.

  BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP, it was now shrilling.

  I hung up the phone and carried happy Hot Tub outside. Our neighbors had gathered, and together with the bemused cop, we pieced the story together. The police dispatcher had received a 9-1-1 call from our phone. She could hear only agitated breathing, and believing it was someone in distress, she sent out the patrol car.

  Hot Tub — bored, anxious, curious, or all three — had gotten hold of the dangling phone cord, pulled the phone off the kitchen counter, and stepped on that big 9-1-1 button. She appeared quite pleased that she’d succeeded in summoning assistance and companionship.

  We had tried to keep Hot Tub out of our neighbors’ way, figuring that we needed to train her to be presentable first. Now, here were the neighbors, cooing and fussing over the adorable puppy. They dubbed her “Wonder Puppy” for her ability to use the latest technology to call help.

  The police recommended we move our telephone. They were understanding, but said that if we had another false alarm they’d have to charge us for the cost of responding.