Dasa Warrior Puppy

Dasa, my beautiful little rose of a basenji, is fading. She tires easily and is becoming increasingly frail. Yet just a couple of days ago I was delighted to see her exhibit a bit of liveliness as she spied a bird landing on her grass and trotted after it, tail waving in a jaunty arc over her back.  For some reason, seeing her chase after the bird reminded me of another occasion when she was ready to deal with an interloper about to invade her back yard.

Several years ago, shortly after we moved to Maryville, Dasa was full of youth, vigor, and energy and, as now, whimsical notions and great bravery. We had just gone into the back yard and were still on the patio when she suddenly looked up and stiffened, then a low growl came from my sweet baby girl. What was that about?
I looked toward the back fence where she was staring with fierce concentration. Again, grrrr.  Perplexed, I walked toward the back of the yard until I saw movement through a tiny slit between the boards of our privacy fence. Dasa walked slowly toward me, still staring fixedly at the fence and issuing low growls. She was seriously concerned.  I squinted through the slit and saw a plastic bag caught on one of our young pine trees. It was blowing about and causing Dasa’s alert warning sensors to go off.
 
“It’s OK. It’s just a bag.” Grrr. She was not letting down her guard. Whatever that threatening presence was, it was not supposed to be behind her fence. I decided the only way to assuage her worries was to retrieve the bag. “I’ll be right back,” I told her, but she was busy being vigilant and keeping us safe from that evil behind the fence.  My Dasa Warrior Puppy remained at her spot in the middle of the yard, ready to spring at whatever it was, should it foolishly decide to invade her back yard.

 At that point, our neighbors to the south had not yet installed their fence so instead of racing past three houses until I reached the clearing by the lake and then doubling back behind a row of fenced yards, as I would have to do today, I was able to sprint through their yard and race behind my fence to disentangle the offending bag without delay. 

 

 I soon returned to Dasa, watchful at her post, and assured her the threat to our safety was gone. I praised my brave girl for defending us.  She had no idea what was back there, but my tiny girl had been ready to confront it and protect us. 

  Dasa’s little body is slowing down, but her warrior puppy spirit is still strong and courageous. May it long be so.