Ten years ago a mutt named Kenya came into my life. She is a Lab-Pitt mix that was left on a beach in Del Mar. She’d been there a few days when she wandered over to a fire. I’m sure that she was looking for food, but she found some open-hearted people who took her in and tried to find her a family. She was healthy but slightly underfed when she was found and she had a tag. It simply said “Kenya." We never found out why she was left on that beach. She bounced from house to house to apartment for a year until she came to live with me. Before I met Kenya I would have said my life was complete, that I was a “whole” person. Now I can’t imagine who I would have become without her influence. Since then I have heard the term “dog person” bandied about when I tell people about her. I disagree. I’m not a “dog person”; I’m a “Kenya person”.

Ivy & Jessie (Matt & Angi C.)

She is hard to resist, especially when you have food and she wants it. She doesn’t jump or try to knock you down. She just turns her big brown eyes on you. Somehow, she can make her eyes look almost comically large. You give her your food before you even know what you are doing. It took almost a year to break her of her trash digging habit. I’ve seen her eat whole bags of dog food, not the 12 pound bags, the 40 pound bag. Any unattended plates of food, regardless as to what that food actually is, are free game to Kenya. I’ve had to make dinner twice on many occasions when I foolishly left the table to get pepper, salt or answer the phone. She also has the unique distinction of having actually eaten someone’s homework.

Maxine & Reggie (Kate B.)

Kenya also fancies herself a mighty hunter. I’ve seen her kill many an unfortunate creature, from flies and spiders to birds, squirrels, groundhogs, cats, rabbits, snakes, porcupines (to be fair, the porcupines may have survived, Kenya barely did) and skunks. Oh, how she loves her skunks! Once she caught the skunk with the “spray end” in her mouth. The smell didn’t go away for almost two months! Some days I would think it was gone then she would pant or drink some water and it would be like there was a fresh dead skunk in our studio apartment. When we lived in Colorado, she brought home an entire elk leg. It was a whole leg. Femur to hoof with all the fixings. I can only guess that she came upon a freshly dead animal and scavenged the leg. I will never figure how she defied the laws of physics and got the thing through the dog door and into the middle of the living room. She has no fear of other animals, and the intestinal fortitude of a world class competitive eater.

Sid (Kathleen D.)

Kenya is, however, afraid of thunder. Our first summer in Flagstaff was a lesson in patience. The monsoon season brought new heights of terror. At the first roll of thunder, she starts panting. Rivers of drool issue from her. Her tail tucks between her legs and she shakes. She also tries to meld with my body. If I’m sitting she will sit on me. If I happen to be in bed she will attempt to stand on my head. It is impossible to sleep through a thunderstorm when Kenya is in the house. She has squeezed herself under chairs and beds, forced her way behind dryers and into kitchen cabinets. If alone in a room or yard, she will break through doors and fences to get to a person to drool on. In the summer of 2006 something had to be done. She broke a 6’x4’ mirror trying to get behind it while I was at work. That night she was panting so profusely on the pillow next to me that the next morning I decided that it would be best to throw it out. There was a very loud storm while I was in the shower and Kenya broke the door to my bathroom open and jumped into the shower with me. We made an appointment with The World’s Best Vet the next day. She has since been on Puppy Anti-Anxiety meds just through the monsoons. It has made everyone happier.

(Angi C.)

The first time I realized that Kenya was more than “just a dog” was in The-World’s-Worst-Vet’s office in Iowa. He had just stabbed her with a needle so they could take x-rays of her leg. She tossed the contents of her stomach and had her head in my lap. Her breathing was uneven and there was fear in her eyes. Fear. It was the first time I ever felt like I was letting her down. As she slipped slowly into unconsciousness, a very horrible thought crossed my mind - this is what it will be like if I have to put her down someday. I was 22 and had lost grandparents, classmates, and the family cat, but for some reason, it was the first time I realized that my dog was mortal. To make up for this moment of panic, I let the World’s-Worst-Vet overcharge me for the knee replacement surgery Kenya needed. After the surgery, she spent three frustrating months watching squirrels from the window and learning how to walk on a leash. When my boyfriend dumped me four months later, the only thing I said was “I want the dog.” Until that time she was “our” dog. After the surgery, I knew that I would be fine without him but I couldn’t possibly be okay without Kenya.

Vega (Ryan S.)

She has been my companion through thick and thin, sick or healthy. She was with me through my first real winter. She was with me when I was homeless in Colorado. She doesn’t complain if I leave dirty clothes on the floor or a sink full of dishes. She has never once complained about my cooking (surprising as I was a vegetarian until just recently) and has even developed a liking for carrots. Kenya doesn’t care if I watch Iron Chef at 3 a.m. with a bucket of ice cream. She thinks it’s great if I wear the same pants three days in a row. When I drove from Durango to Phoenix, she was in the passenger’s seat, there and back. Depressed and lonely, Kenya is there. Excited by a new prospect, Kenya is there. When my grandmother passed away, I kept Kenya at my side. Like a rock, she supported me through one the most emotionally challenging times of my life. When I get home she is at the door, wagging her tail as though she hasn’t seen me in years. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been gone for a week, a day, or twenty minutes, Kenya is ecstatic. I look back on all the nights she has accompanied me to bed, the feel of her gently snoring at my side, and I am grateful. She is the part of me that is always content to just be. She reminds me everyday that I am alive. She is the best part of me.

(Special thanks to the employees of Bookmans Flagstaff for contributing photos of their pets!)