Killer

”His name’s Killer,” said the man who lived down the street.

I blinked at him. My wife’s response was to crouch down and baby-talk the black and tan dachshund: “Aren’t you just a ferocious little beastie, yes you are—oooo yes, you are!”

We’d been on a walk around our neighborhood, and while we did, a ‘Killer’ had started stalking us. In fact, he followed us all the way home. He stood on our porch staring up at us, tail wagging, as if to say, “We’re home! Can we go in now?”

But we carried him back to his home. This happened again. And again. I think it was the third time that we took him back that my wife asked if we could have him. Audaciousness serves my wife well at times because the man said yes. So we took five year-old Killer to our home, which he knew was his real home all along—he was just waiting on us to get on board. Basically, he chose us.

I was not quite as keen on having another dog in the house. Killer and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on things right out of the gate.

He was always a mischievous little stinker. Not long after he came to live with us, we took him on an overnight camping trip. I am legally deaf, and I sleep without my hearing aids in my ears. I don’t remember where I left them, but Killer had found them during the night. Here, I’ll let him tell you what happened from his perspective.

I tried to dog-nap in the little green house my humans built in the woods, but there were so many new smells! And sounds! There were squirrels out there. I just knew it! But then I smelled something yummy that was closer. Earwax! Mmmm, have you ever licked some earwax? You should! Yum, yum!

I set my sniffer on the trail and soon located the source. One of my humans took little thingies out of his ears every night. Most of the time, he kept them out of reach, which isn’t very nice. But this time, they were just sitting there, nestled away in a shoe. I figured that they basically meant for this to be my new doggy bowl, so I pulled out the thingies. I carried them outside. I didn’t want to disturb anyone while I munched on the crunchy goodness!

I asked my wife the next morning, “Where are my hearing aids?” I was looking everywhere, and then I noticed Killer. He was sitting by the tent door looking at me with guilt written all over his doggy demeanor. “Killer, did you get my hearing aids?” He put his nose down and walked into the tent to hide.

We searched around in the leaves and found them. One of them was okay, but the other had been chewed to pieces. My wife was concerned that the poor little guy had swallowed a battery, but I wanted to roast him on a spit over the fire! I know, I know, it was my fault, but those things are $5,000 each!

Little did I know, that this was only the down payment on a plethora of other expenses that Killer would incur, mostly due to his love for all things edible.

Killer was also disillusioned in that he didn’t understand how small he was. For instance, when we took him to my father-in-law’s farm, he tried to pick a fight with a bull.

He loved the farm. He would run full tilt through the grass, ears flapping, nose raised up high in the air. He had a cute, crooked sort of run as if his back paws were always trying to race against his front paws. When he would run to you, you could almost hear him announcing his arrival, “Dun da da dun dunah da!“

Anyway, back to the bull. Killer saw the huge animal, and took off out into the pasture. He wasn’t cowed by the bull’s large presence (pun intended), quite the contrary. He stopped three feet in front of the bull and started barking at him like he was now the king of the pasture or something.

“Killer, no!” one of us yelled. But he’d get a few more barks in before trotting away, quite happy with himself. He had won something in his little doggy mind.

My humans don’t realize all that I do to protect them. When I see a ferocious beast about to attack them, I rush into battle! The beasts that they call cows are especially dangerous creatures. But those little cows always back down when someone bigger faces them head on. I run right up to them before they attack my humans, and I tell them all the things I’ll do to them if they lay a hoof on my humans! I never lose a battle with those insidious creatures!

My humans just don’t realize what is really going on, and they often try to stop me, but I know that I am keeping them safe, and that’s what matters.

They don’t even appreciate it when I save them from the stinky. If anything is too stinky for my humans to handle, I eat it, or I roll in it to keep it from getting all over them.

They don’t realize how much I do for them, but that’s okay. I love my humans and will always look out for them.

Killer risked his life on numerous occasions, led astray by his overly curious nose and appetitive nature. One time, we had left a huge portion of fried onion strings and jalapeños in a styrofoam container on the kitchen table. We had to go somewhere before we could eat it, and when we came back the carton was on the floor, empty!

Dogs are not supposed to eat onions, but Killer vehemently disagreed. We found him curled up on the bed looking utterly miserable. We rushed him to the emergency veterinarian clinic. He eventually vomited up enough of the food that he would not die from it. Oh, how many times did we repeat a similar scenario? Too many to remember them all!

Another time it was a giant Hershey’s chocolate bar. I think that his favorite thing to eat was chocolate, even though it is potentially lethal for dogs.

My absolute favorite doggy treat is chock-a-let. I will climb the highest chairs and dining room tables for that delicious yumminess! But for some reason, my humans try to keep it from me. I think they just love it too and are being greedy, but I sneak a morsel whenever I see an opportunity! I overdo it sometimes I guess. If I eat too much chock-a-let, I throw it up. That doesn’t feel very good, and I don’t feel like eating for a while, but my hungry comes back quick! If they would just leave it on the floor or bed where I left it, I could eat it again later, but they always get it before then. I think they secretly eat it themselves.

Killer chased the occasional cat. But he did it in his own doggy way—with wild abandon. One night, I was working as a security officer on a seminary campus. We lived in student housing, so when I heard my own address over the radio, my ears perked up.

“Dispatch to unit 94, Mrs. Sprouse says that her dog went down the drain . . . uh . . . could you check that out?”

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Ah ha! There it is, that cat moved. If it runs, I’m going to chase it down!

(Cat takes off running)

Here we go! I am fast! I am lightening! I am speed! I’m gonna getcha, cat! I saw the mangy feline disappear down a dark tunnel thinking I would be too scared to follow.

(There is an opening in the curb on the side of the street—it’s a storm drain)

Boy was that cat dumb! I never hesitated. I dove headlong into the abyss, roaring my battle cry! Then I hit the concrete. Ow! I sniffed around in the dark. The cat was long gone. The only light was from the opening above. I could hear one of my humans calling my name. I wanted to let her know that she didn’t have to be scared anymore—I chased off the dangerous cat. I hopped up on a ledge and extended my long body upwards. Hands reached down and pulled me out.

I was stuck on campus, but another officer checked on the situation. By the time he had arrived in the scene, my wife was pulling Killer out of the storm drain. He’d chased something down there. Fearless little pup scared us to death on numerous occasions.

But nothing was as scary as learning he had congestive heart failure and would only live a few more months—maybe a year. After more than a decade with the little stinker, he was a member of our family. The dread was the worst. Waiting for it to happen. But ol’ Killer never slowed down. Days before he passed, I had to go hunt him down outside because he’d followed his nose too far from the house.

We will miss him, but I think that we haven’t seen the last of Killer. I know many would disagree with me, but I think that dogs have souls. They are simpler souls than those of human beings, but they do seem to have some sort of simple doggy souls. I have read credible accounts in which people died and spent time in heaven, but came back to tell about it. In some of these cases, beloved pets were among those who greeted them upon their arrival.

God is so incredibly good that it wouldn’t surprise me at all for Him to do something like that and have Killer be among those that greet us when we leave this world behind for the next. Can I prove that I’ll see him again? No, but I think that I will. And it sure makes me smile when I think of it.