Nikki was an abused, neglected, starved Akita whom we fostered for 10 months for New England Akita Rescue Alliance. I suppose, technically, she was never even my dog, but, in the ways that matter, she was one of mine. I suspect I'm the only person who ever loved her, and sadly, I never was able to give her as much love or attention as she deserved. Like so many rescues, she accepted what we could give her with grace and appreciation, and loved us back whole-heartedly. A dog of tremendous beauty, intelligence, and loyalty, Nikita never managed to overcome the horrors inflicted upon her in her youth. (Sometimes people ask me why I'm particular about who I sell puppies to, and why I'm so protective of my lines... the answer is really simple: I NEVER want one of my babies to be like Nikki). Nikita lies buried under a willow by the pond at the back of our property. I can't remember all the rescue dogs I've met, evaluated, helped transport... or even all the foster dogs we've temporarily shared our lives with (they come, they go, and I wish all of them only the best, but I don't remember them), but Nikki is different. I like to think she knew she was one of ours before she died, but I (being a foolish human) didn't figure that out until afterwards. I miss you, beautiful girl, and think of you often.