Monday, [10:07] PM
Dear Human Friend,
I’m Donner the Doberman.
Dad’s asleep on the couch but forgot to log out of WordPress… so I’ve hijacked the computer and am typing my first post.
Not too bad for someone without fingers, huh?
You’ve seen me before, haven’t you? Daddy has a picture on this website of him holding me when I was just a puppy.
That was a long, long time ago.
On August 18, 2011, Daddy said I turned 13 years old.
I hear him talking on the telephone saying things like I’ve outlived all my litter-mates by almost 4 years.
I don’t really understand that… but I guess it’s a good thing.
Our new friend, Dr. Albano says I’m equivalent to a 100 year old man.
I don’t really understand that either… so I ignore it.
13 is just a meaningless number to me. I still run and play outside in the sun every day.
And I like to play and rough-house every morning with my little brother Chiqui Rikki.
(He’s just a little pipsqueak Shih Tzu… but since he’s been around Dobermans since he was first born, he thinks he’s a Doberman. I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s just a little fluff ball.)
I’ve been Daddy’s best friend since I was just 8 weeks old. He likes to say we’ve been best pals for more years than he was with his “starter wife” and the Colombiana (so far) combined. That sounds like a long time.
I was born in Myakka City Florida. The very day I turned 8 weeks old, Linda Werlein at Von Asgard Kennels put me in a kennel with my tennis ball, put me on a plane and I traveled all the way to Dayton, Ohio to go live with my Daddy.
I was scared when I first arrived.
After all, they took me away from my mama and my brothers and sisters, put me in the belly of a noisy, cold jet and shipped me to a strange new place.
But Daddy was so excited to see me when I arrived. I’ll never forget that.
A few days ago, our new friend, Dr. Albano, told Daddy I have “cancer.”
I don’t know what that means.
I went back home and played outside with my brother Chiqui.
Daddy went home and cried.
He’s been a lot more snuggly with me since then.
I like that.
He hugs me and kisses me on the top of my head and says things like, “Daddy loves you.”
And… “you’re my best pal in the world.”
He’s always done that… but he does it a lot more since we saw Dr. Albano.
He seems so sad and worried lately… so I always stay by his side to protect him and keep him from being sad. That’s a what a true friend does.
Unfortunately, I may not have much more time to speak with you. You see, tomorrow I go to visit Dr. Albano again in the morning. I am going to have something called a “surgery” for this cancer thing.
I HOPE I can speak with you again but, as my dad says…
“Nobody is promised tomorrow.”
So I’m going to take Dad’s advice and tell you NOW what I want to tell you.
Please don’t wait to live the kind of life you want… because nobody is promised tomorrow.
Please don’t put off the accomplishment of your dreams until “tomorrow.” Too many tomorrows turn into weeks, then months, then years… then decades. And you rob yourself of the joy you COULD be experiencing during that time… the joy that comes from working every day towards a dream.
As my dad says, it’s not the accomplishment of the dream that makes you happy… it’s the journey.
One more thing…
Please don’t wait to tell the people you care about how you feel about them. Tell them NOW… because nobody is promised tomorrow.
And tell them every day after that, too.
You won’t regret that. But you will regret it if you DON’T say it.
And I don’t want you to have any regrets. I sincerely want you happy… like I’ve made my dad happy these past 13 years.
Dr. Albano sent medicine for the pain and to help keep me calm. I took it a while ago and I’m getting sleepy.
So I must go now. (I’m going to dream about chasing tennis balls.)
I hope I have the chance to speak with you again soon… but just in case I don’t, let me say this:
Thank you for listening to my dad and following your dreams. It makes him VERY happy when you do that… and when he’s happy, I’m happy, too.
So please keep making Dad happy, OK?
All the best,