The day they come into our lives is the happiest. And the day they leave us, as all things do, eventually, is the saddest. Today is one of these sad days.
I speak, of course, of our pets. Our creatures. Our friends. Our family members. Our companions. Our worry. Our ball and chain. And our ultimate happiness, joy, and sometimes even single reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
Our family has had cats that we all shared. They were our cats. Maybe only Bella, the half-siamese stray kitty (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2018/12/good-night-sweet-princess.html) was half a stray and half my dad’s cat. But the rest of them were ours.
The dogs, though, the two dogs my family ever had, were without a question my dad’s dogs. No one disputed this! They were both named Bobby, both pure-bred German Shepherds. And were absolutely 180-degrees diametrically opposed! They were massive, scary-looking dogs, all chest and muscle, all head. But temperamentally, they could not have been more different!
Bobby #1 (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2010/06/cainele-care-latra-numai-la-pisici.html) was quiet, and patient. He used to put his large head on your knee as you sat down and just sit there, looking at you with begging eyes, just to be close to you. Not Bobby #2.
Bobby #2 came into dad’s life mere months after Bobby #1 died. Dad got his first Bobby the year my sister got married (2000) and when he died, the year I got married (2010), dad got Bobby #2. The second Bobby was all voice! You could hear him from two neighborhoods down the street! He would bark at cars, people, birds, cats - a loud, aggressive, piercing bark and howl. All lungs. All power. You’d wish you died a decent, painless death before you came face-to-face with that dog. He seemed to be a menace and he was after you till you were over, for sure - the very last breath of you.
Dad loved it, though, because he wanted people to fear him so they’d never think of approaching his house! It worked. I am sure of it.
The first thing he did when he grew up tall enough to not be a puppy anymore was to pull down all of mom’s laundry off the clotheslines and bury it in the yard! Freshly clean white sheets - buried in the yard’s muck. Deep. It was the day I thought for sure mom would kill dad!
Then, my aunt went to feed him one day, and he shredded off her pants! Never bit into her flesh at all, but tore up her pants. And she is the kindest, most caring people you’d meet! And she was, after all, the hand that fed him. No matter!
My parents knew pretty early on that this was no dog to be let loose in the yard, like the first Bobby. Dad immediately built a separate yard enclosure for him, where he was free to roam and as loud as he wanted to be (and boy, was he loud!), but where he could not get in trouble with people. Mom and dad went in there to feed him. Dad had his meat-smoking and wine-making equipment in there, so he went in there quite often. He played with him every time he went into his "territory". He also had a clear view of the rest of the yard and who came and went. He never seemed alone nor lonely because he spoke with every breath he took. You could say he was the perfect dog for our chatty family! Finally we met our match! He'd wag his whole body and pull at the fences and gate around him to tear them down if you ever so much as made eye contact with him! You would never be able to ignore him. Ever. It was a thing to watch!
For years - 10 or so - I believed Bobby #2 was just an aggressive, angry dog that was so defensive of my dad and the house that he was willing to tear anyone or anything up that, to his perception, came between dad and his security. But later on people started debating whether he was truly just angry and hateful towards people (he was raised from birth by people, always with a family, always cared for), or just lonely and asking to play ... A dog that should have never been a yard dog, but rather a family, living room kinda dog?! We will never know, because all he ever was was a yard dog ...
It was not till last year, when we went back to bury dad and when he was over 12 years old, that I finally got the courage to pet him! It took 12 whole years for me to build up the courage to approach him. And for mom to feel safe enough to let him out of his enclosure and around people.
Bobby #2 died today, June 1, 2023. Ironically enough, like the big kid looking for play that he was all his life, he died today, on International Kids’ Day!
Six months, one week and three days after dad left us, Bobby finally crossed the rainbow bridge to be with him. They are both in Heaven now, Bobby waking up the dead, quite probably, and dad trying to catch up with his shenanigans. They are probably both looking for Bobby #1 and all our kitties to have a good ol' family reunion and dad is surely smoking some yummy ribs and sausages and sharing them all around. I'd like to think of this, rather than spend some time just crying and letting my heart bleed ...
Our house back in Romania is probably dead-quiet. Our streets have found a silence and a peace that they have not known for 13 years now. As much as the neighbors will enjoy the silence, they will also probably miss the bucolic flair of the barking dog in the night...
My heart goes out to my grieving mom who had to muster the courage and the force to put him down after he had been suffering for months from a tumor and a frail back.
Rest in peace, sweet fellow! Our lives are richer and kinder because you were in them!
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