Late in 2014, Equamore Foundation lost one of its most interesting volunteers, a Jack Russell Terrier named Dugan, who made it his job, first to convince Linda Davis that he belonged at Eden Farm and, second, to take on the enormous job of making sure everyone who visited the farm was properly welcomed and that all farm work had a competent supervisor—himself.
Dugan took his work seriously. Even when his legs didn’t work so well, and his eyes became a little blurry, he accompanied wranglers and volunteers as they completed the many tasks necessary to maintain an equine sanctuary. In pictures taken of farm activities, somewhere in the background Dugan is bound to appear. A perfect example is the one at right taken near the end of his life as he makes sure that a horse is being properly led in from the fields. Dressed in his red coat to keep warm, Dugan still insisted that work needed the supervision of a good dog.
Dugan’s story, in his own words, is the first in this blog series, dedicated to the enormous soul that was housed in his diminutive body. In his honor, this blog is where others, like Dugan, can tell the stories of the work they’ve chosen for themselves involving animal rescue.
DUGAN’S STORY
This is a history as to how I came to live here on the horse farm that eventually became Equamore Sanctuary. It was a few years ago when the leaves on the trees were turning red and gold and the days were getting shorter. For quite some time I had lived next door at a different horse farm with lots of animals, including goats, peacocks, cats, and at least as many dogs as horses.
My friend that owns that other horse farm tried to find a family that would adopt me, and on four different occasions I got into a stranger’s car and went off to a new home. But each time I knew immediately that I had not found the place that was just right for me. Oh, these people were all really nice, and they really wanted me, but they didn’t have the kind of work I dreamed of doing. Somehow, I always found my way back to the farm that had been my home from birth. There was plenty of good work there and it suited me; but with so many other dogs to do it, I wasn’t needed the way a dog like me should be needed.
After the fourth attempt to let others find me the kind of job I wanted, I decided to look on my own. I started by looking around the neighborhood. To my amazement, there was another horse farm right next door. It had lots of land, lots of horses, people coming and going, cats to chase, and no dogs living there. The ones I encountered told me that they were just visitors and would go home with their people each day.
The owner of the farm had lived with lots of dogs in the past but decided when her last dog passed on that she would have no more dogs at the farm. She had lots of cats and horses, but no dogs. I knew almost at once that this was where I wanted to be. Every morning I would get up very early and head to my new job. I would spend all of my day taking care of the place, making sure that all was as it should be. I would sit with the owner when she gave riding lessons and I would watch her when she was training the horses. Intermittently, I would survey the property, making sure everything was in order.
When it was time to leave work, the owner would drive to her house just a little way from the barn. I would follow her, running beside the car and waiting outside to be invited in. It was very clear at first that she didn’t want another dog, as she would not invite me in or give me anything to eat.
Occasionally I would jump up on the picnic table on the deck to get a look in the kitchen window and imagine what it would be like to live in that house. Eventually, however, because I was hungry and tired after a full day’s work, I would “call it a day” and walk back to the other farm where I knew if I got there before the owner went to sleep, I would find an evening meal and a warm bed.
Even as the weather got colder and even though it sometimes rained or snowed, I would run back to my new job each morning as soon as I could get out the door. I loved greeting the farm owner and spending the entire day with her. I spent every waking hour running after her car, checking and surveying the grounds, watching her teach and train the horses and riders. And every evening, I would follow her home and wait on the porch to be invited in to stay.
For most of the cold weather time. I remained uncondtionally loyal to my job, the farm, and the owner. I don’t exactly remember what month or what day it was, but I do remember it being very cold and dark when I followed her home this one particular evening. I sat on the porch for what seemed a very long time, for I was more determined than ever to let her see what a wonderful loyal helper and companion I was. With all my heart, I hoped she would invite me to come in and stay and maybe have a little supper. It was cold and rainy; I was very hungry; and it seemed very late. I thought I had better head back before the owner of the other farm went to bed and I would miss my dinner and have to spend the night outside.
Disappointed again, I began the sad journey that I had made so many times before. Just in case, I looked back to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind. No such luck. I took a few more steps back toward the other farm when I heard: “Dugan! Dugan! Come on!” I couldn’t believe my ears! I couldn’t believe my eyes! She was calling me back! She was inviting me in! She fed me dinner! Cat food, as I remember. She asked me if I would like to stay and live in the house at the new farm. I jumped for joy as only my breed can do.
Every day since then, I do my job at the new farm. Almost every day I visit the other farm just to make sure everything is “OK” there as well. But I always return to the owner of the new farm. I get to spend all day, every day with her, my best friend, except when she drives away in her car. She invites me to go with her sometimes, but I really don’t like riding in cars. Besides, I never want to leave this place, and she always comes back.
So I wait for her. I am very good at waiting.
Dugan Waiting
