My Rogie-Dogie

A horrible thing happened on Saturday afternoon. I feel responsible. My husband feels responsible. Now I'm just numb.

Our wolf hybrid, Cheyenne, who Randy moved just last week, killed our Dachshund, Rogue. In front of me. I'm an accomplice to a murder.

Bubba was woofing, wanting to go out. I know he really didn't want to potty, he wanted to "hang around" Cheyenne. But Bubba's kind of like Bart Simpson, and keeps on woofing until he gets his way. So, we all went out, Bubba and Cooter on leashes, Rogue and Heidi loose. Since Cheyenne had been moved to the place we usually go down to the creek and to the "back back", I was going to go a different way. But evidently Rogue had forgotten Cheyenne had been moved, and ran straight for her. And that's how quick it was. I ran over, yelling "NO! NO!" I still had a death grip on the leashes, so Bubba and Cooter were in tow. Cooter started to yelp, not because he was being attacked, but because he's scared of her already. Heidi tried to put herself between Rogue and Cheyenne. And Randy had ran out, and had to beat on her to get her to release rogue. But it was over. We laid her to rest in the back yard. I said the 23rd Psalm to myself, well, what I remembered of it. And cried, and cried, and cried.

I blamed myself, Randy still blames himself. And Cheyenne is going to be put down, or given away. We don't really blame Cheyenne, it's her nature. But who's next? One of our cats? Cooter? Or maybe a child who comes into the yard?

To be honest, it's not the way I thought she would go. As I have said before, I have an entourage when I walk Bubba and Cooter. I just walk to the next corner and back. When a car comes, I can hold the bassetts back, would run in front of it. So I had to call to her, sweetly so she didn't think she did anything wrong; then squat down and point to the ground in front of me, all so I could pick her up before the car came. And cars go way to fast on the roads here at Meth Lab Estates. Like last night, I swore I was going to be run over and I was on the opposite side of the road, almost off the road! That's how I thought she would go, she's kind of a knucklehead.

You know, she was named Rogue after the X-Man character, because she was the puppy who did everything first - out the box, on to the sofa, etc. Being a dachshund, she acted as though she were a much bigger dog. You'd have to catch her, because she would run out and bark ferociously at the biggest dog. And because she was teased mercilessly by a neighbor who wore a ball cap all the time, she hated guys in hats. Even those she knew, if they came in wearing a hat, she'd bark at him until the hat came off.
Whenever she wanted something, food, water, or to potty, she did a little dance you had to interpret: she'd spin around in the living room, go up to the kitchen and spin around, and then stand on the kitchen steps and stare at you. And she repeated if you were dense enough not to understand. We called it her "bee dance".
And she loved to see her Grandma. She loved to take walks with us in the pasture. She would run with abandon, completely happy.
She was also a cold natured dog. Any time you covered up with a blanket, you got the little black-and-tan dog, too. Since the door to our bedroom didn't close right, all she had to do is run down the hall and throw herself against the door to open it, then she jump up on the bed and whine until she was under the covers, between us. I usually got the toenails.

She was a wonder. She'll be missed.

**UPDATE** Cheyenne has had a temporary reprieve. Only if Jason's friend, Tommy, her previous owner, can find a home for her by next Monday