Eulogy to Rama

He was named for a Hindu God of reincarnation; AND he could eat your face, if he was so inclined. That very fact came into question during my very first dealings with Rama, as part of my duties were to “put him up” in a pen during milking. Rama had a perchance to roam. Far. And rather than spend several hours covering several miles of Rama’s “turf,” the decision was made to put him on lockdown, which he happily agreed to, it meant he got treats! I was understandably nervous, seeing as I was a “Suburban Mom” turned “Rural Bo Peep” and on top of that, I had “Cat Brain” from years of dealing with nothing but felines, which basically meant I was afraid of the big, bad country dog, and didn’t know (if, like a cat) he was going to, (without any kind of logic of forethought), maim me for simply existing.

“No, he won’t eat your face!” Chuckled my boss, although I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was quite certain he would and could, if I happened to be a bob cat or coyote or bad guy, or any other number of threats to the herd. One thing was certain…faces would be eaten! But not mine. Thank Goodness I wasn’t Caroline, the Pot Bellied Pig…her face was tasted on a regular basis… “Practicing” on Caroline made for great fun for the Anatolian Shepherd/Great Pyrenees cross.

One day, I was working in the “hospital pen” area of the barn. Amidst the many chickens and barn cats hanging around the pens, I was oblivious to anything other than my job…refilling water, feed and hay and making sure the hospitalized goats had fresh straw to lie on. I suppose I was probably performing any of the above duties when I was jump startled out of my *farm trance* and jerked/leapt about 4 feet into the air by a most frightening noise. It was the sound of a dog barking…in my general direction. After I landed back on planet earth, I whipped around to see who/what was barking at me…It was the scariest looking, but also most beautiful dog I had ever laid eyes on. His toasted-marshmellow colored coat hung in pleats around his huge…but at the same time, sleek, muscular frame. His chocolate brown muzzle camouflaged his easy-to-read mahogany eyes, and if I looked close enough I could see his “this is a warning, the next time I bark I will eat you, no offense.” expression.

But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking past me. When I whipped back around to where I was originally facing, I came eye to eye with RC…the donkey equivalent to, well…Donkey, from Shrek. If there was mischief to be made, it was made by RC. The two farm donkeys had been put, intentionally, into a pen they weren't normally in and I'm sure it surprised/startled Rama to see a DONKEY rather than a GOAT in the back of the barn and not in his usual place out in the pasture. According to the dog, I was mere seconds away from being donkey kicked (quite literally!)...but Rama intervened. Rama.

A feeling of relief filled me and I took a deep breath. Wow. I probably wasn’t in any real danger, but Rama (who was thankfully separated from RC by a gate…I did NOT want to be in the middle of a donkey/Anatolian shepherd throw-down!) saw a potential “threat” and let his opinion be known. Rama did NOT like the way the donkey was eying me, and picked up on the fact that RC was not in his usual location. Something felt “off” to Rama, he was on it like lighting, sounding off like thunder. I knew from that day on that I was well protected on the farm. Rama and the other Guardian Dogs were always working, always watching. Always.

Before he left for the National Guard, I worked with an 18 year old boy named Jeremy. He was quiet, shy and 6 feet tall, but probably weighted ninety-five pounds soaking wet. He was thoughtful, intelligent…a hard worker who was polite and eager to please. I respected him, as he was much more “country” than I was (and ever will be) and that gave him “street cred.” One day, as we were dutifully cleaning the parlor (the area where the goats get milked) we were discussing our families. I would often chide him that if I had him when I was 14, I’d be old enough now to be his mother. I would tell him about my kids, and he’d, well, he didn’t say much. He’d just listen. This particular day, we were discussing our pets and I mentioned my 4 cats.

“You mean, you don’t have a dog?” He questioned.

“No,” I replied, and then went through my usual laundry list of why I didn’t have a dog just yet.

“You really don’t have a dog for those kids?” He asked again.

“No!” I answered, laughing at his obvious and dead-serious offense to my lack of canine companionship.

“Well, that’s just UN-AMERICAN.” He spat back to me, in totally legitimate disgust.

Oh My Gosh! I thought to myself. Was I really un-American, as he suggested? He was just getting ready to leave for active duty. I needed to listen to him. So several well thought out months later, we welcomed Kona into our lives. We named him “Kona” as an homage to “Rama.” Not exactly the same name, but the similarity was no mistake. There were many reasons to name him after Rama, the mighty Anatolian Pyrenees, the mighty canine warrior.

It was with a heavy spirit and lump in my throat that I said “Goodbye” to Rama last Sunday. For I knew with certaintly, it would probably be the last time I saw him. Rama had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and it hit him square in his belly (and the rest of the farm in the heart…) I asked my Boss if she wanted him in or out, thinking maybe she’d want him accessible or close by. But she unselfishly replied that he could be wherever he wanted to be, and for him, that was with the Milkers, with his girls, out in the pasture. Working. He indicated such by begging to get let out to them, as soon as he had visited with us and was sure milking was over, the same routine as any other night. The last night I worked with Rama, knowing full well his fate had been decided upon, I cleaned the parlor as I always did. It was a dark night, so when I heard the familiar barking, I stopped spraying water, and looked outside to make sure everything was okay. And there was Rama…barking with his “Brother At Arms” dog Joe, keeping watch over the pasture, tail wagging, doing his job, because it’s what he wanted to do.

If there are coyotes in Dog Heaven, pot-bellied pigs, bob cats and bears, people to love and pet; then Rama is there, too, (chasing them and!) guarding them, loving them...working…and happy.