I Wear a Tattered Collar

A story of enduring love, rescue, and friendship

Photo by Morgan’s friend.

My name is Morgan. However, it was once Duke. Duke after the name of the street where I was found burned, starved, and near death. A kind man found me on the side of the road. Too weak to stand, the man scooped me up, placing me in his truck. The next thing I remember was a buzz of people discussing how they would save my life. I was too weak, too tired, too forlorn to care. Fear was a lifetime behind me. Simply did not have the energy to be afraid. Although, throughout this ordeal, there was one woman who was constantly by my side. Her name was Kirstie.

Kirstie was the director of the shelter where I landed battered, burned, starved, and tortured. She did not judge me for missing so much fur or for my frightening appearance from my damaged eyes and scars. Kirstie was my angel and I loved her as she loved me. Unconditionally.

Months passed. My strength returned. The infection in my eyes had at this point damaged my sight. Ribs still showed, but at least my spine now had some meat on it. The green ooze of my eyes and the lack of fur spreading over half of my body kept the adopters away. But not Kirstie. Kirstie loved me. She told me I was a good boy. A handsome boy.

Then one afternoon, after I had given up all hope of ever leaving my enclosure, my cage, a woman appears. She just stands staring at me. Eventually she says hello and asks me in a kind voice what had happened to me. I don’t bother moving or responding for I know she is just another onlooker.

Kirstie approaches the woman. The strange woman and Kirstie talk about me. The woman wants to adopt me. Me? It couldn’t be. My ears were obviously also damaged. I hear Kirstie give the staff permission for this person to take me on a walk.

Next thing I know, I am tethered to a leash. Kirstie is speaking to this woman while I stand there. Now scared. I can feel fear. My body has recovered enough that feelings have returned. Then we are off. We walk. I do not make eye contact nor do I gaze up at this person. What do they want of me? Will they harm me? Why did Kirstie let her take me? The walk is brief. The woman has spoken in soft tones to me as we walk. I am too nervous to know what she has said.

Then for many days the woman returns for a walk. Finally after some time, when the woman arrives, I lean into her and gaze up into her eyes. This is how I let her know she is accepted. We are now friends. Kirstie places a brand new collar on my neck. She tells me that she loves me and that I am one of her favorites. She kisses my snout goodbye.

Months and months later my new friend tells me she has sad news. She sits down with me and shows me a picture of Kirstie. The friend says that Kirstie has gone to the Bridge where I will see her again someday. She explains that people who do great things are often called home once they have completed their destiny.

My collar is now years old. It is faded and worn.

I wear a tattered collar in remembrance of my friend, my angel, Kirstie.