April 12, 2010
I have always loved animals and in particular, dogs.
My love for dogs and horses began early on, as I grew up next door to a large family who seemed to do everything in a “BIG” way. They had five horses and a very large Saint Bernard named Dutchess.
Dutchess would wander over to visit whenever I was outside. She would lumber up to me and I would wrap my arms around her enormous neck, at which point, she would promptly and submissively flop to the ground and lay there for as long as I paid attention to her. She kissed me, drooled all over me, leaned on me and knocked me over - and I loved every minute of it!
My mother loved dogs too and encouraged my love for them as well. She did not panic when Dutchess (who had to weigh nearly 100lbs) would knock over her 4 year old daughter. Instead she would laugh, dust me off and stand me up again.
Some time later, my mother rescued a stray German Shepherd Dog who had been wandering the streets where she worked. Each day, she would share her lunch with the dog as she feared he would starve to death, hoping that his owners would soon find him. After many weeks, he was picked up by the local dog catcher. She inquired every day as to whether he had been found by his owners. Each day, they would inform her that he was still there.
He had two weeks. My mother posted fliers everywhere, but no one came forward to claim him. She would not allow him to be euthanized, so on his last day at the shelter, we adopted him.
Duke was a large and impressive dog who was very intelligent and exceptionally well trained. He calmly and patiently tolerated me climbing all over and sitting on him. She never feared that he would lose his patience or temper with me – and he never did – no matter how closely I inspected his eyes, ears, paws or teeth (and for some reason, I was especially fascinated by his teeth and would pull back his upper lip to get a good look at his pearly whites).
One story I remember about Duke goes back to when I was about seven years old. It was close to Halloween and our freshly carved pumpkins adorned the front steps. As the days passed and it got closer to Halloween, I began to notice many pumpkins smashed in the road. My mother explained that some teenagers thought it was fun to run up to a house late at night and steal the pumpkins from the steps and then smash them in the road. I worried that my pumpkin might be the next. I checked each morning to see if it was still there.
A few nights prior to Halloween, I awoke to hear a car idling in front of the neighbors house and then sounds of laughter and then the car speeding away. The next morning, our neighbors pumpkins had been smashed all over the road in front of their house. I looked to see if my pumpkin was still on the steps and to my relief, it was.
Late the following night, a car pulled up in front of our house. My parents were both awake watching television with Duke sleeping at my mothers feet. My father, knowing what was about to happen, raced to the door to catch the pranksters in the act. When the boys reached the steps, my father opened the door and to his surprise, Duke shot out before anyone could stop him.
The boys froze in fear, as they stood eye to eye with Duke who was not about to let them get away with our pumpkins. The boys turned and ran for the car with Duke hot on their heels. The boys jumped into the back seat of the car which sped off.
Every halloween after that, the neighbors pumpkins would end up in pieces in the middle of the street, but ours remained untouched.
