07/24/2026
That Stupid Dog
Dash was never supposed to be our dog.
He belonged to the neighbors. At least, that was the plan.
He started showing up every day, and I always referred to him as that stupid dog. He dug up my gardens, knocked over the stroller with my baby in it, tripped me more times than I could count, and every attempt to send him back home was met with the same stubborn determination. He simply refused to stay there.
Eventually, the neighbors gave up trying to convince him otherwise.
And somehow, without anyone making an official decision, he became part of our daily life.
I think the kids loved him long before I did. I tolerated him.
Then, somewhere along the way, he quietly became ours.
He took his job seriously. He watched over our goats and chickens like they were his own. He chased off stray dogs, killed coyotes that ventured too close, and spent every night patrolling our three acres. His bark became the soundtrack of our evenings. Instead of being annoyed, I found comfort in it. As I drifted off to sleep, I knew Dash was awake, warning every predator within earshot that this place—and everyone in it—was under his protection.
He never just guarded livestock.
He guarded my children.
No matter where they were on our little piece of land, Dash always knew where they were. If anything wandered too close that didn't belong, he was already there. He stood between my kids and danger without ever being asked. And even beyond our property line, he seemed to believe the surrounding fields were his responsibility too. He patrolled them with the same determination he patrolled our own property, as if God had given him a much bigger territory to protect than the one marked on a map.
And wherever Dash was, Amora wasn't far behind.
His faithful sidekick, our sweet girl, followed him on patrols, chased him across the property, and I'm still convinced she's the reason he decided this was home in the first place. She welcomed him, and he never looked back.
There was one week when Dash disappeared.
Seven long days.
At first, I told myself I was mostly worried about how heartbroken the kids would be if he didn't come home. But somewhere in the middle of that week, I found myself crying as I prayed for that stupid dog to come back.
That's when I realized he already had a place in my heart.
When some local kids found him wandering in the surrounding fields and brought him home, the joy was overwhelming. I'll never forget their kindness. I still pray for those kids often, especially now as they've walked through the heartbreaking loss of their dad.
Life settled back into normal, and if I'm honest, I probably took Dash for granted. The rest of the family always seemed to stop for extra hugs and scratches behind the ears. I was usually too busy. I assumed he'd always be there, faithfully making his rounds while I moved on to the next chore.
This week has been different.
Watching him get hurt. Waiting through surgery. Hearing the silence at night instead of his familiar bark. Seeing the work of protection temporarily left undone.
It's made me realize just how much of our family and our homestead rests on the shoulders of one faithful dog.
I've prayed.
I've cried.
I've worried every bit as much as I would for one of my children.
Somewhere along the way, that stupid dog stopped being the neighbor's dog. He stopped being the nuisance that destroyed my flower beds and tripped me in the yard.
He became family.
And whether I admitted it or not, he quietly claimed a piece of my heart.
As I write this, Dash is out of surgery. We are hopeful that tomorrow we'll get to bring that stupid dog home and begin what will likely be a long road to recovery.
Our family has been overwhelmed by the prayers, encouragement, and generosity we've received. To everyone who has prayed with us, prayed us through this ordeal, offered help, or stepped in to support us in tangible ways—thank you. We have felt every prayer, every message, every act of kindness.
I don't know if dogs understand words like loyalty or sacrifice.
But I know this.
Every night, for years, Dash has stood between my family and whatever darkness might wander onto our little homestead. He has faithfully protected our children, our goats, our chickens, and even the fields surrounding us as if they belonged to him.
He chose us long before we chose him.
And I thank God every day that that stupid dog never went home.
We're looking forward to bringing him back where he belongs.
Home.
