June 25th, 2010
Emma
Last week’s post was on Big Black Dog Syndrome. When I was writing that post, I reminded myself that I have my own tale of how our Big Black Dog, Emma, literally rescued me:
Looking back, it’s fitting the first time I saw Emma, I was driving out of our suburban neighborhood on my way to our leased land to feed our horses.
Emma was coming out of a pond, walking up a hill, soaking wet.
I saw her again on another blistering hot day a few days later. She had made her way back to our neighborhood. I opened the back gate. She came to the back porch, lapped water and eagerly ate the only dog food I had – senior small dog bites.
Our first rescue, a black and brown miniature Dachshund named Hershey, was in her golden years and she was an only dog-child because she didn’t like kids or other dogs. We didn’t want to upset the end of her life and I didn’t know how Emma would get along with our two cats.
However, Emma didn’t leave and no one responded to my “Found Dog” ads in the local newspapers. Of course, the no-kill shelter was full.
A day later, I finally let Emma in the house. Hershey, wasn’t upset by Emma’s presence; she paid Emma no mind at all. Emma also ignored the cats.
My elderly mother had been afraid of big dogs since being bitten as a child, but she took Emma’s face in her hands and they met each other’s eyes. Emma was definitely “Grammy’s” girl.
Hershey, Emma and I would go to the barn each day. Emma would jump from the truck and run the land, leaping on top of 1,500-pound hay bales, swimming in the pond and chasing wildlife (she never caught any).
I usually didn’t see much of her until it was time to leave.
On December 1, we got out of the truck and Emma took off to play and run. I had two senior horses, but fed Santana, the younger one, to keep her from bothering the two seniors.
As I sat the last bucket down, I heard the unmistakable roar of hooves coming at me. By the time I spun around, the only thing I saw was a very large, open mouth clamping down on my upper left chest. When Santana locked her jaw, she flung me backwards.
I was lying on the ground, staring straight up. I heard that roar of a galloping horse coming toward me again, Santana was in a fury and directing it right at me. Dazed and in shock, I couldn’t move.
Suddenly, Emma appeared, barking and biting at Santana’s legs. She not only stopped a 1,000 + pound animal several times her size, but backed Santana into the corner of the corral, giving me time to get to my feet.
The dog no one wanted the summer before had managed to literally save me from being stomped to death.
Now a senior, Emma is still spry and always ready to go for a run or swim on our rural property with her pittie sister, Sade. Emma can no longer jump up on 4 foot high hay bales – we have to help her get in the truck now days – but I have no doubt that if anything charged at me even today she would get between us and put up the fight of her life.
I don’t consider Emma finding us on that hot day 9 years ago the day we saved Emma; I consider it the day that led her to rescue me.
Do you have a story of when a pet you rescued literally saved your life?
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Tags: BBDs, Big Black Dog Syndrome, Emma, My BBD Rescued Me, Rescue Me
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15 Responses to “My BBD Rescued Me”
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Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell has had dogs all of her life. Her first rescue was Hershey, a miniature black and brown Dacshund. She ruled the Campbell household until 2005 when she passed away at age 16. The case of Scruffy, a Yorkshire terrier whose torture death was videotaped in 1997, horrified the nation when the tape appeared on national news shows. Kerri began covering the trial for the local daily newspaper in Kansas City, Kansas where the crime occurred. Her investigation into animal cruelty cases led to her awareness of the puppy mill problem in that state.
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Love this story. I cannot imagine having a big horse suddenly so intent in hurting you. Emma to the rescue!
Kerri, what a story of love and courage. Our furry children are our best friends indeed!
It is amazing to me, how dogs will jump to the defense of their master without any thought to their own safety. What a wonderful story! Good dog, Emma!
I have owned and ridden horses since I was twelve years old, and my guess is that somebody abused that horse and gave the poor thing the idea that humans are a threat. I have had horses who were high spirited and easily spooked and even bucked or reared up while being ridden. That is very different from a horse that shows the kind of aggression you described. You paid the price for someone who mistreated that animal, I have no doubt. It sounds like Santana was appropriately named! (Spanish for Satan, right?)
Yes, Kathleen, absolutely right. And you’re right about her being abused. She didn’t like men from the beginning and had already kicked my husband and he wouldn’t go near her. She had never acted out toward me. However, I did realize after that incident that there is some damage animal lovers cannot fix, no matter how much we want to, or how much love we put into an animal later. Santana was the only animal in my life we didn’t keep until she died. I had to sell her for our own protection. Even after this incident, it was a sad day for me and I still hope she is living a good life somewhere.
I don’t believe in owning a horse that is dangerous, even though I love horses. You did the only thing you could do.A horse that shows outright aggression is just too dangerous to keep. Thank goodness for Emma!
Please email me at cindy@scoutandzoes.com. I would like to know more about this exceptional canine.
Thanks!
Cindy
I tried emailing you, Cindy, but it was returned as an error in the email addy.
What a beautiful story!
Thank you, Shauna!
Great story!
Here is mine:
When I was 13, I lived in a boarding school in a a rural area. There where 2 dogs that lived there- one BBD (a Belgian Groenendael mix) and her son from a random mating with a Saluki (there was no awareness of S/N back then).
I was very close to them, and they followed me everywhere, jumping on my bed to wake me in the morning etc.
One sunny late October day I had a fight with someone from the staff, and took off to the fields, with the dogs following me.
As it was a sunny day, I was wearing a short t-shirt. But as night fell, the temperatures dropped. Fast.
I woke up from a nap I took in some bushes, feeling really cold. For some reason, I didn’t get up and return, but stayed and huddled with the dogs. The young dog know that something was wrong, and ran out, while I stayed with the BBD, hugging her and huddling against her.
It turns out that the young dog ran and alerted the staff, and showed them my location.
They then picked me up, drove me back to shelter, and gave me some medical attention I apparently needed.
Any wonder that until this day I love big black dogs?
That’s a wonderful story and no, there is no wonder as to why you love BBDs! Thanks for reading and sharing!
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