DAKOTA
Breaking the Chain, Stopping the Pain

Q. That was his name. He lived outside on a chain from the time he could walk until he was four years old. Four years of enduring the intense summer heat, the cold winter nights, the sleet, the rain, the snow, and everything in between. Enduring the weather is one thing, but Q managed to do it with minimal food, negligible water, and absent love.

It was a cold February day in 2004 when I first met Q.

I was notified of him by a concerned citizen who drove by him every day on her way to work. I was now not only volunteering at my local Humane Society, but was also a representative for Dogs Deserve Better, a national non-profit that rescues chained dogs. As I heard this woman tear up over the phone, my heart was breaking. Here was another person affected by the sorrow of the chained dog, and I had no definite answer. All I could do was make a visit and hope that the person on the other side of the door was open to my offer of help. I promised this woman I would go, and I began gathering my things.

The person on the other side of the door allowed me to go meet Q. As I walked down the hill behind the house, I wondered if he would trust me.

I wondered if I could handle the sight and smell of another chained dog.

I could see Q's ribs from about 10 feet away. He was surrounded by an old bathtub filled with frozen dirty water, old car parts, an old washing machine, and various other forgotten things—forgotten just like him. He paced back and forth in his worn down patch of dirt. His dog house was filthy. There was no food in his make-shift bowl. His chain was attached to his neck by a tight and dirty collar. Everywhere Q went, that chain went too. It clanked along the dirt as I walked around observing whatever I could. I reached out my hand and petted his head.

Q wagged his tail, but I could see the sadness in his eyes. I promised him that I would try to help, and I told him that I loved him. Silly, huh? The truth is I did love him. How can anyone not love something so innocent that suffers so greatly and is forgotten by most?

Q's owners agreed to let me take him to the vet for a check up and heartworm test, but then called me the following night saying they changed their mind. I pleaded with them to reconsider, but they would not budge. They did tell me that I could visit again sometime, and I promised that I would. I went to the local Wal-Mart and purchased a large crate, dog food, bowls and toys, and took it over there the next day. They promised me that on cold nights they would bring him inside and use the crate. They promised me.

Then, they broke their promise.

I contacted my local animal control department. They sent an officer out, but Q did not receive the help he needed. I had done all the law would allow me to do.

The next year was an eventful one for me. I had managed to rescue several other chained dogs, and with the help of my local Humane Society, we found them wonderful new homes. However, I never forgot Q.

Almost one year to the day, I went back to visit Q again. It was now February 2005. Again the owner allowed me to go down the hill and take a look. This time was different. Oh, the frozen water was there, the food was non existent, but it was Q himself—his condition had greatly worsened. I could see visible wounds on Q's ear and tail. Flea strikes had damaged his ears. Large ticks were feasting on his blood. He was dirty and smelled horrible. I noticed a large bump on his nose, and he was even thinner than before.

As I reached out to give him a treat, he leapt up and nicked my finger in his eagerness to finally have some food. I hurried back up the hill, and told the owner that I was very worried about Q's condition. I pleaded with him to allow me to take him to the doctor. He told me he would do it himself, but I left believing that it was now a desperate situation and Q must be rescued immediately or he would die!

When I got back into my car, I noticed the blood on my finger. It was the answer I needed. Some may say it's coincidence, some may say it's the risk of doing business. I say it was the answer from the angels high above. I called Animal Control and reported a bite. Now, they had to do something. I went to the hospital emergency room so that a report could be filed. The officer came and took my information and then proceeded to go speak to the owners.

To make a long story very short, Q was confiscated and later released by his owner to Animal Control. The Humane Society took over his guardianship and began his rehabilitation process.

His name was changed to Dakota, and we discovered, to no surprise, that he was heartworm positive. He underwent the treatment, and his heart is now healthy. A pellet from a BB gun was removed from his nose. Dakota had to have his tail amputated, not once, but twice. The frostbite would not heal, and the doctors had no choice but to amputate. So much joy exuded from Dakota's heart that he couldn't help but wag his tail endlessly. This resulted in the wound opening up as his tail hit the wall of his run. The doctors had to amputate again to make it shorter.

Dakota had suffered horrible psychological damage from his previous conditions. We will never know the full extent of what he had to bear. But we do know that kindness and care were never a part of his life prior to rescue. Dakota paced in circles constantly at the kennel. He seemed nervous and anxious.

He was put on antidepressants to try to alleviate his torment. It helped somewhat, but we all knew that what Dakota really needed was a home.

The volunteers at the Humane Society gave him all the love and care they could, but he needed a family to be part of, his pack so to speak—a pack he had never been allowed to join.

Ten months later in November, the happy ending to Dakota's story came.

One day a gentleman came to see what dogs we had at our kennel. He heard Dakota's story and he said, "I cannot leave him here after hearing about his life." We knew at that point that the prayer we had been saying for so long had been answered. Dakota is now a family member. He sleeps in the bedroom. He plays with his canine brothers, who are also rescues. He watches the rescued horses and cats as they play and roam in their huge and beautiful yard.

I don't cry much anymore, but I can't stop the tears as I write this story. One year and ten months later a dog who knew nothing but terror and agony is now going to be able to live out the rest of his days as all living creatures should.

Dakota is an Indian name, and it symbolizes the courage and endurance of a people deprived of their natural rights.

Dakota is a dog who is the symbol of hope for so many others still out there waiting for the angels to save them.

"Wishes to remain Anonymous"

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If you've been touched by Dakota's story, and would like to help us free more chained dogs, all donations are gratefully accepted. Thank you!