Karen Wilson - Dakota Gold

Dakota Gold

Karen Wilson

iUniverse LLC

Bloomington

Copyright 2014 Karen Wilson.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-2928-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-2926-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905297

iUniverse rev. date: 3/18/2014

Contents

W ith breakfast eaten and the dishes done, I bundled up for my morning walk with Rusty. It was still winter, but the sun poured its warmth across the frozen land, slowly melting the snow. Before long, it would become a very muddy walk! For now, though, Rusty and I broke a path through the deep snow to the stand of oak, aspen, poplar, pine, and cedar trees. Holly bushes were scattered here and about, the berries nestled on pillows of snow and the deep-green leaves beautifully etched in white. All the leafless branches on the trees had snow sleeves and stood in stark contrast to the clear blue sky. Covered in snow, the branches no longer reminded me of a bag of bonesfunny how nature can change mental pictures from one to another. Along our walk, numerous tracks and pathways presented themselves. The black bear that roamed our area had been there sometime during the night and had left muddy rubbings and bits of fur and clawing marks on the bark of the bigger trees. I could still see rubs left on the trees by the buck deer from the earlier rutting season. Faint paw prints from the bobcat tracked across the snow, heading to a destination that it only knew.

Only the faint swishing of cascading snow from overloaded boughs and the crunch of snow underfoot broke the silence of this morning. I could see patches of sky visible beyond the towering treesnot a cloud in sight and not even a whisper of wind. Maybe this was really the end of the storm. If history was a good measure, we soon could expect weeks of fine spring-like temperatures, in spite of its being late wi nter.

As Rusty and I walked from the rolling pasture to our wooded pathway, I noticed that the air was warm enough that I could no longer see our breathno mist burst from our mouths, making us look like laboring steamboats. The sunshine, the chirping birds, the clean smell of pine needlesthey were all good s igns.

Rusty soon found a distractiona rabbit. His nose wriggled as he sniffed the air, stopping in his tracks. I knew he was remembering the baby bunny he had found when he was younger. Suddenly, with a spurt of energy, he bounded off, eagerly yet gracefully. With legs reaching out, he quickly covered ground in the melting snow. I saw that the rabbit was too wise to stay in place, for he scooted away. The white cottontail disappeared deeper into the woods, outside our fenced property line. Rusty never went beyond the fencing. He stopped at the line, looked to where the rabbit had disappeared, and then looked back to me, his tail wagging excitedly. He began prancing about, smelling the air, and sniffing at the rabbits tracks. He returned to the fence, looked around, and then paced again, going back to sniff the trail and then back to the fence once more.

Im sorry, boy! I called to him. You know you cant go there. Come on. Lets finish our walk.

Obediently, he came, but he looked over his shoulder wistfully. Almost . I am sure he was thinking. I almost got that ra bbit .

When we returned to the house nearly an hour later, we were both slightly muddy, and towels were required to clean up before going indoors. Rusty would have liked to play tug-of-war with those towels, but I tossed them in the washing machine. Even as I did, Rusty jumped up and down, his jaws reaching up, trying to clamp down on the to wels.

R usty was twelve and a half years old on September 10, 2009. I was filled with overwhelming grief as I clutched my big boy, my love. It was time to say good-bye. Hed had an enlarged heart and had battled cancer, but now, hed suffered a stroke. His loving, trusting eyes gazed at me once more. I always told him, I will never have another dog in this houseand I meant it with all my heart and soul. Now, endless tears flowed unchecked down my cheeks, and choking sobs ripped from my throat. Memories flooded back to me as I held him.

We all go through this at one time or anotherlosing someone dear to us. It is never easy, but it is the process of life. I knew I needed to somehow let my heart be warmed, even as he was crossing over this side of fall. I remembered the times we walked lazily across the pastures, where a light cast of snow had fallen that morning, sugaring the pine boughs and the dull beige stubble where corn and wheat had grown earlier in the year. I remembered the gentleness, warmth, love, and trust of our life together that always was betwee n us.

I looked over the land that now seemed lifeless and useless, and I remembered only how my spirit elevated when Rusty and I were together here. I think Rustys spirit did too, as his behind would wag about, his great flagging tail waving in the breeze that ruffled burnished red, yellow, and gold fur of this boy I loved so de eply.

I dont want to think about the bare appearance of the pastures before me. I want to only remember the glory of our moments, our times toge ther.

I met Rustys father, Dakota, at the Seven Pines hunting camp in Ivor, Virginia. My husband, Billy, cared for the dogs there, and Dakota was a loving, mischievous wonder. Immediately upon meeting him, I took to him as much as he took to me. He lived half a mile down the road. His owner, Paige Pulley, farmed over a thousand acres of corn, cotton, and peanuts on a homestead that had been passed down from one generation of family to the next since 1736. Sometimes, Dakota met us with his shaggy fur dripping wet from his swim in the pond, but that never mattered to me. I gave him my hugs anyway, and he licked my face with his warm, wet pink tongue. His eyes, which looked as if black eyeliner surrounded them, happily gazed at me, and his mouth always looked as if he was smiling. His coloring was that of the fall leavesgolden redand when the sun shone on him, he glistened. His head stood regally from his thick, bibbed neck, and he pranced about pro udly.

I didnt realize that Billy often watched me with Dakota. And I didnt knowuntil laterthat hed asked Paiges son, Cory, who raised golden retrievers, when Dakota was going to be mated with Lady Cheyanne, a light golden, or that hed asked for a pupa male closest to Dakotas appearance and na ture.

On May 25, 1997, Billy said that he needed to meet with Paige, and he asked if I wanted to go along with him. I readily agreed, knowing I would see Dakota. My time with Dakota would give me joy, and I needed that. Id had two major surgeries that left me in much pain, as well as anxiety and depression. I knew that Dakota would diffuse all that for me. I could not get to Ivor fast en ough.