Smokey, the Monster Dog

Introducing
Smokey (aka Mocha) the Monster Dog

I have certainly been blessed in my four-legged friends. As a child, the best friend I had was my Scottish Terrier, Wiggles. She never learned to bark, but she could howl with the best of them! Today I have the sweetest little Scottie, Piper, (who thinks she's a Great Dane and can literally roll her "sister", Smokey the Shepherd!)

Smokey came into my life in an odd way. I got a call from my Dad, telling me my Mom was sitting in the park, refusing to come home, and threatening divorce because he had rescued YET ANOTHER stray dog. (bringing the total to 4 in a tiny apartment, all big dogs...) Well, I already had Piper and 3 cats (Mystic, Loki & Titan), and a husband who thought that was more than enough to constitute a zoo, so I politely declined to enlarge my little family. And that shoulda been the end of it.

Yeah, right. Well, My big black Shepherd went to live with my cousin in New Jersey. He had a backyard. Dad thought it was a match made in heaven. Well.... not quite. This massive eight month old puppy had the worst case of separation anxiety I have ever seen. She could not be left alone. She would get completely frantic and hurt herself/destroy the house trying to get out to be with her human. My cousin works 70 hour weeks. It was a baaaaaaaad situation. He was so annoyed at "the dog from hell" that he threatened to take her to the pound.

Now my Dad is in tears. No way is he gonna let that happen. So he rents a car, and drives out to Jersey to rescue the "monster dog." And since I work out of my house and have the word sucker tatooed on my forehead, of course the ideal solution was for me to adopt the dog from hell.

Which I did. She was a physical and mental wreck. Scarred, bleeding, emaciated and so frightened you would cry to look at her. She slunk instead of walking. Her head looked like somebody tried to carve a tic-tac-toe board into it. The worst scar was on one of her eyelids. It pulled at it and kept the eye from closing completely. She looked like a monster stitched together in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.

For some reason, she appointed me her protector and basically spent the next three months cowering between my feet. She wanted no part of my husband. She tried to eat my little dog. Friends, family, my vet's office, everybody (except my Dad, and my husband) was telling me this dog should be put down.

But all I had to do was look in those eyes to know that this dog came to me for a reason. She needed me and loved me like nobody else in the world.

It took a lot of time and effort, but you would not recognize that poor pathetic creature. She's almost six now, happy, bubbly, crazy and fun. Some things still trigger a fear reaction, but I know what they are and I protect her as much as I can from stressful situations.

She is my constant companion, and there is a bond between us I couldn't begin to explain. She is part of my soul. So is Piper, but there is just something about knowing that this dog is alive today because of my Dad and me. Adopting her is the best thing I have done in years.

She loves Piper, and they play nonstop. I am constantly amazed by the transformation. Yet in all the civilizing she has had, she hasn't lost that special something, that wild part of herself, that I so love. This dog is such a NATURAL dog, it is a joy to watch her move and hunt, and run and think. You can see the intelligence in those sad eyes.

Smokey's full name is Smokey Mochachina McMutt, and she answers to all possible silly nicknames that can be made of her mouthful of a name. She is a total mush with me, but most of my neighbors seem terrified of her and call her "the big black wolf". I am still trying to teach her how to howl, but so far she just looks at me with a look that says, "Momma, you are strange!"

We are a strange couple, and sometimes I think both of us have PTSD. But both of us are determined to lick it. Smokey has come so far in overcoming her trauma. She inspires me and makes me think it is possible for me to do the same.

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