My Hero

             Since starting Big Sky Rottweiler Rescue and teaching and testifying nationally on canine behavior, I have worked with a lot of dogs that are the sad result of court proceedings.  Usually these cases result because the dog was allowed to run loose all the time and got into trouble, sometimes even having been involved in a bite incident. Sometimes, after the courts become involved, the dog is surrendered by their owners in order to lessen penalties or simply because the owner realizes they are not in a position to care for the animal properly.  On one such occasion the local shelter, where I volunteered,  became the custodian of two wayward dogs, Joker and Brodie, whose owner had allowed them to run loose one to many times.

Joker was a young pit bull that didn’t realize his body had outgrown his still puppyish brain.  Brodie, a beautiful male Rottweiler, had thankfully outgrown his puppy ways and soon became a favorite of the staff because of his gentle demeanor.  Joker, on the other hand, was a bit much for some people. 

Like many pit bulls, Joker had a high predatory drive, meaning that if an object was moving then it had to be chased and grabbed.  It didn’t matter if the object was a leaf or a snow flake, Joker was all about the game of pursuit and capture.  I found this out the hard way one day while playing fetch with Joker and Brodie in one of the larger exercise yards.  Everything was going well enough at first.  I would throw the ball and the two dogs would race after it, bantering back and forth as to who would get to it first and bring it back to me.  At one point they brought the ball back and dropped it, but when I reached down to grab it Joker had moved off to my side to get a better view.  Foolishly, I swung my hand down beside my hip to allow a good swing for an overhanded throw.  Joker, being rather fixated on the ball, didn’t realize that the ball was only to be chased after it had been thrown.  As my hand came up to make the throw, I was shocked to find a fifty-pound pit bull attached to it.  My initial surprise must have been evident when I told Joker to “drop it!”, as he let go and fell to the ground.  I looked at my hand to make sure that all fingers were present and that I wasn’t bleeding.  From that point on I made sure to hold the ball high and avoid winding up for my throws.

            All of the staff enjoyed both dogs but one staff member, Melissa, was especially fond of Brodie.  He was her “handsome man” and their bond was strong.  Now, the staff all used slip rope leashes for handling the dogs.  These leashes were plastic ropes with closed loops at each end.  When you run one end through the other, you have a large adjustable loop that you can slip around the neck of a dog to move it back and forth from the indoor kennels to the outdoor ones.  The problem the staff dealt with was where to keep the leashes while they worked; many kept them looped around their shoulders or stuffed in back pockets.  Melissa, though, always wore the one she used around her neck. 

One day Melissa went into Joker and Brodie’s pen to throw the ball for them. As always, she had the leash around her neck, the loop making it like a necktie, with the free end hanging down her front.  After a couple of throws, this dangling end of the leash became a distraction, so she turned it around so that the loose end was hanging down her back.  She threw the ball one more time and Brodie sped after it toward the far side of the pen. Joker, unbeknownst to Melissa, had become mesmerized by the movement of the leash that dangled down her back.  With the last throw, Joker leapt up and grabbed the loose end, immediately tightening the noose around Melissa’s neck, choking her.  She struggled to loosen the loop as Joker playfully pulled on it harder, thinking all of it was a wonderful game of tug.  Melissa was starting to become faint when out of the corner of her eye she saw a black and tan blur streak by, and she heard the thud of colliding dogs accompanied by the deep growls of Brodie.  Amazingly, he had sensed that Melissa was in danger and, though having been friends with Joker since he was a puppy, he had attacked Joker, forcing him to release the leash. 

Melissa stood up and clung to the chain link fence while gasping for breath.  Brodie held Joker at bay in the corner of the pen until Melissa removed the leash from her neck and told Brodie that it was okay.  Thankfully, Joker was not hurt by Brodie’s assault and was actually rather confused by the whole event.  It was, after all, just a game of tug, wasn’t it?  To this day Melissa still refers to Brodie as “her hero”.  

            Joker and Brodie were eventually adopted but not into the same home; however, both went to responsible and loving families.  Brodie ended up in a home with three children, and like many Rottweilers he became their guardian and, more than likely, their hero as well.

My first novel, Stranger’s Dance, used this real life example as inspiration for some of the gallant behaviors of the dog, Stranger, in the story.  If you want to read more about him, check it out on Amazon by clicking here.

Devious Dogs

My apologies on the length of time since the last blog post.  I’ve been so busy wrapping up the manuscript for my second novel that I really haven’t had time for much else.  The good news is book two is in the hands of my editor for the next couple of months, so I will have no excuse for being tardy with future posts.  That brings me to today’s blog. 

Having worked with rescue and pound dogs since 1997, I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with hundreds of dogs, and I have learned that most are wonderful animals.  I’ve also learned that a select few are, well…somewhat devious.  Now I’m not talking about the aggressive dogs, though aggression often comes into play in these devious canines’ behaviors.  What I’m referring to are the dogs who scheme for nefarious purposes, dogs in whom, when you look them in the eye, you can see the wheels turning in their brains. Oftentimes, this is so much so the case that you realize the dog is thinking on a level higher than many people you know.  It is these dogs I’m thankful don’t have opposable thumbs because, if they did, they’d be running the world by this point. 

Now, this devious behavior comes in many forms.  Sometimes it looks like sneaking away items the dog knows you need, only to return them after you have given up looking and bought a replacement -- my girl, Belle, was notorious with this one.  Other times it may look like acting out a part in the movie The Great Escape.  My friend’s dog, Bailey, is a master escape artist who could have easily played a role next to Steve McQueen in the film. These devious behaviors are harmless enough for the most part, but then there are behaviors that reveal a bit more of an evil streak in a dog.  These antics are the ones used to intimidate people and, in all honesty, the dogs seem to enjoy causing people to jump back in fear.  My aforementioned dog, Belle, played this very game well but with a subtler twist, and this game always started innocently enough.  Belle would move into people’s personal space until she became a nuisance, and if the person tried to make her leave she would let them know that it wasn’t an option.  If I had guests over, she would identify the most dominant one with which to play her game, and make her approach with the classic ‘pet me’ puppy dog eyes.  As she was petted, she would move closer. Next she would put her front paws up on the couch next to them.  They would pet her more, and she would proceed to climb up onto the couch with them.  Now, most dogs would lay down with their head on the person’s lap so they could have a belly rub, basically submitting and accepting the attention.  Given that the word submissive wasn’t in Belle’s vocabulary, this wasn’t her intention.  She would stand eyeball-to-eyeball with the person.  If the person dared to stop petting her, she would give a soft, low, but very intimidating growl. Keep in mind, Belle was over ninety pounds and built “like a brick outhouse’, as my friend Angie once said of her. Of course, if I saw her pulling this stunt I would stop her well before it got to that point, but she learned to only attempt such a move if I was in the kitchen or elsewhere. Thankfully, Belle never snapped at anyone. She just gave the deep Rottie rumble that was rather frightening to most people, telling them that the petting must continue.

Belle

 Yes, some of this behavior could be classified as dominance; Belle was protection trained, after all. Perhaps dominance was part of the issue since another Rottweiler, named Oz, displayed similar behavior in his home.  Still, when I caught Belle in the act, I noticed a glint in her eye and could almost see the thought bubble above her head saying, “Did you see how scared they were, dad?” I honestly think she enjoyed this little game.

Belle’s minds games were subtle by nature but still devious. One not-so-subtle method is employed when the dog purposely puts themselves into a position where they can scare someone by barking at them.  I’m not talking about typical territorial barks but an ambush with the sole purpose of making someone jump.  An amazing dog, named Bo, was the first dog I saw carry out such a thing.   

Bo was a rescue that came into the Humane Society of Gallatin Valley back in 1998, I believe.  He had spent much of his life in a small pen, in his owners’ back yard, and he was often tormented by the neighborhood children. As a result, he was very territorial. After several months at the shelter, however, he came to be rather calm and accepting of people passing by his kennel.  This is true except when he was in the mood to make people jump. 

Bo

The staff started telling me that he was being cage aggressive when in his indoor kennel.  I was concerned as this behavior makes it difficult for a dog to be adopted, so I wanted to see what was triggering him.  I positioned myself inside a small room in the main kennel area and had the staff bring Bo inside. They put him in a kennel where I could watch him through the door, without him seeing me.  Everything looked normal enough until I heard the main door, at the end of the room, open as a group of visitors came to view the adoptable dogs.

The individual kennels had solid panels on the bottom half, so in order for a dog to see the visitor’s door, they needed to jump up on their hind legs.  I expected to see Bo on his hind legs; however, he crouched down so that his body was against the panel closest to the approaching people.  I realized, about two seconds before the people reached his kennel, that the little bugger was waiting in ambush.  Sure enough, the moment they passed his kennel, Bo went full Cujo on them, hitting the kennel door and barking like crazy.  And right on cue, the poor people nearly jumped out of their skin as the hundred pound, black and tan hell hound pounded the chain link.  I rushed out of my hiding spot and scolded Bo.  Do you think he cowered, looked guilty, or perhaps slunk into a corner after being caught?  Nope.  Bo grinned ear-to-ear,  his stump tail thumping back and forth at hyper speed. Once again, I saw the little thought bubble over his head with the words, “Did you see how high they jumped, dad?” 

From that point on, we ensured that Bo was in his outdoor kennel during public viewing hours, and I worked with him to try and convince him that, regardless of how much fun it was to make people jump, it wasn’t appropriate behavior.  Thankfully, Bo was adopted so it was not an issue for too long. 

Once again, though, I’m dealing with another devious dog, one of my own.  My girl, Carly, like most dogs, can read people like a cheap paperback book, and she knows more about their emotional status than they do.  Because of this she has buffaloed a few of my friends who are, by their own admission, terrified of her.  Carly doesn’t intentionally do anything to stoke the fire of that fear, but she does seem to enjoy it when she is around them.  Her behavior is manageable enough, but the one antic I find rather annoying is her propensity to bark at joggers, and not just any jogger, but typically the attractive, female joggers.  Being a single guy, I keep trying to tell her that I’ll never get a date if she keeps up with that behavior.  Then again, being the devious Rottweiler she is, this might have been her plan all along.

 

Carly

If you enjoy stories about dogs and their relationships with humans, be sure to check out my first novel, Stranger’s Dance, and tell others about it. Click here to be taken to it on Amazon.

Trust Must Be Earned

One of the most valuable lessons I learned as a young boy was that trust and respect can never be demanded but, instead, must always earned. Once earned trust and respect must be maintained and never betrayed. Though this principle was intended for interactions with humans, I learned, after starting Big Sky Rottweiler Rescue (BSRR), that it applies as much to dogs and other animals as it does to humans.  

My first application of this rule, which I described in a prior blog, came while working with my first rescue, Bear. The next time involved a Rottweiler/Chesapeake mix named Nikki. This poor girl came into the shelter afraid to death of men, so much so that only the female staff could enter her cage to catch her.  If a man came near, she would cower in the corner and snap at the guy who dared to try and touch her.  Given that she was a Rottweiler mix and a dog with issues, I was naturally drawn to her.  As with all the dogs I’ve worked with, I looked at the problem and figured out solutions to reach an end goal -- the goal being that the dog is rehabilitated. To make this happen with Nikki, I had one of the female staff catch her, bring her out into the exercise yard, and let her loose with me.  I then sat near the door and had the staff member sit next to me.  For two weeks we did this, and each day Nikki would venture closer to us, and more importantly, to me.  I never tried to touch her or catch her, but, instead, let trust slowly build between us.  As time went on, I was eventually able to pet her and even to get a leash on her.  Finally, I no longer needed the female staff member, and myself and one of the male staffers began working with Nikki on a daily basis.  The transformation that resulted was amazing. 

In just about a month, Nikki had gone from being terrified of men to completely trusting Dave and I, so much so that Dave started taking her on long hikes on his days off.  One of the most difficult days occurred when Nikki was adopted by a wonderful lady out of Missoula.  Dave was heartbroken, but he knew that he wasn’t able to adopt her himself, and it was the best option for Nikki.  Later that year, we received a photo of our beloved Nikki that showed her in a whitewater raft with her owner and five men.  Nikki’s smile beamed as she stood on the raft, floating down the river during a research project in which her owner was involved. 

When she’d first come to the shelter, Nikki was almost a lost cause. Yet with time and consistency, trust was earned, respect was given, and the result was an amazing transformation.  This is typical with rescues; time and consistency and trust and respect are vital prerequisites.  These necessities, when employed wisely, can take some of the most difficult dogs and turn them into good canine members of society.

My latest problem dog is another great example of that.  Carly is a BSRR rescue that no one wanted to adopt.  She had come to BSRR from a kill shelter in California and spent two years in our group.  During that time she earned the nickname “Crazy Carly”, because she was so intense and exuberant in all she did.  In reality, she is just a high drive dog who had no past training whatsoever.  Her main negative issue was a fear of people, especially of men.  I have no doubt that she came from an abusive home.  Because of this, if anyone tried to touch her she would bite them.  Women seemed  able to earn her trust the fastest but only with lots of time invested.  When I adopted her I knew full well that I was her last hope, as BSRR was considering euthanizing her, given her ongoing behavioral issues. I guess you can say I have a soft spot for the difficult dogs, as the moment I had an opening I started the process of getting her to me. 

Once she arrived, though, it was a difficult time, just like it had been with Nikki.  The difference between the situations was that I didn’t have a female to help me out with Carly.  The first week, I had arranged to take off from work as it was Thanksgiving, that way I would be with her twenty four hours a day.  For those first few days I couldn’t touch her without her trying to bite me.   I was, thankfully, able to put a leash on her and walk her with my other rescued Rottweiler, Bradum.  These walks helped more than you can imagine.  The pack is everything to a dog, and Bradum is a calm alpha, which worked well to teach Carly that our pack was safe.  By the second week I was able to pet her, though occasionally it would trigger some memory, causing her to jump away in fear. I never reacted negatively to her responses, I just respected her and kept working toward the goal of earning her trust. 

Fast-forward two and a half years, and I can now touch, pet, play with, and otherwise work with Carly without any issues.  My current goal is to have her become comfortable with others petting her, especially the veterinarians. We are making progress, but like with many rescues, it is a slow process.  It is an achievable goal, as long as I remember the basic rule: trust and respect must be earned, never demanded, and time is my greatest ally in that effort. 

The concept of earning one’s trust and respect is at the core of both my first novel, Stranger's Dance, and my second novel, Lost Horse Park.  It isn’t published yet, but you can learn more about it at my Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for the final editing costs.  

Comfort in the Herd

I’m not sure how old I was when I first rode a horse but I was young, very young -- probably only three or four-years-old. At least, that is my first memory being on a horse’s back.  I remember being lifted up by my mom and then handed to my dad who sat high up on his buckskin horse.  I recall sitting in front of him, amazed at how big the saddle horn was as well as how far off the ground we were. 

That was the start of my love and respect for horses, something that would grow over the years I spent on the ranch.  Though I don’t have regular access to horses now, the smells, the sounds, and the simple presence of a horse is a comforting thing to me.

From the time I was first allowed outside by myself, I would seek out our herd of a dozen or so horses.  In the winter I’d find them in the fields near our house, allowing us the ease of feeding them closer to home.  During the warmer months they would be further away, often in the broad expanse of aspen trees that followed Porcupine Creek as it cut through our ranch.  When I would get near, the herd never spooked, not if my intention wasn’t to catch them.  The horses knew the difference in my approach and could spot a lead rope a mile away.  If I was just there to say hi they would gladly welcome me into their fold, tolerating the small bipedal creature that wandered among them, petting their heads while trying to offer fresh-pulled grass. During those times with the herd, I felt a peace and contentment I still find hard to explain to non-horse people. It was such a good feeling that if I had time, I would commonly seek out the herd just for that enjoyment.  Yet there was one time that seeking of such comfort wasn’t out of enjoyment but out of necessity.

It was New Year’s Eve and my parents were holding a party at our place.  I might have been seven or eight-years-old at the time. Never being too comfortable in crowds, I typically retreated to my room to read books or play with Legos.  Perhaps it was the alcohol fueled revelry that drove me out of my normal place of solitude. Regardless of the reason, I went downstairs and put on my boots and coat as I prepared to go outside.  The entryway was empty as I donned the winter layers; the majority of the guests were in the kitchen and living room.  No one heard me walk out the front door, and with its closing I was blessed with the wondrous solitude of winter in the mountains. Though it was cold there was no wind, so I headed down our road for a bit until I could cut across the field to where the horses and cows stood quietly along the path. It was there we had spread a truckload of hay earlier that same day. The further I got from the house, the less the noise of the party could be heard until, finally, after several hundred yards, the only sounds I heard were those of my feet in the six inches of snow covering the ground.

As I moved closer to our livestock, the cows spooked and trotted a short distance to ensure that the small, blue-coated menace who approached never got close enough to harm them.  The horses though, like always, didn’t run.  Jane, my mom’s horse, approached me and sniffed deeply at my coat, searching for a treat I suppose.  A few others did the same as I walked among the forest of equine legs.  As I moved among the herd, petting them all, I talked with them. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but I do know that I spoke to them.  This was not uncommon for me, as having conversations with my animals was standard then and still is now. For over an hour I stayed within the herd, petting and talking to the horses. I enjoyed the comfort they provided and the respite from the noise and frivolities back at the house. It was only when my feet began to get cold that I was motivated, though reluctantly, to return to the house.

Once back home, I entered the front door and was in the process of taking my boots off when my mom came into the entryway.

“Where were you?” She asked, a bit confused that one of her children had been outside without her knowledge.

“Out with the horses,” I answered plainly, as I finished taking off my boots and coat.

“Well, okay, be sure to tell me if you go out again,” she requested.

“Okay,” I said, as I headed back upstairs to lose myself in a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel, Shipwrecked.

Despite my mom’s request, I rarely told my parents when I was going outside to be with the horses.  Perhaps it was a little of a rebellious attitude, but more likely it was simply that I didn’t want anyone to deny me the comfort of being with the herd, even if only for a short while.

Today I no longer have the opportunities to experience that same pleasure, but on occasion I do visit friends who have horses.  The smells and sight of those beautiful animals always take me back to that cold winter night and the solace I experienced when the herd had taken me in as one of their own.

If you love horses you will enjoy my second novel, Lost Horse Park.  It isn’t published yet, but you can learn more about it at my Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for the final editing of it. 

Photos provided by Junia Wollman.

 

Second Novel

Greetings,

This is my first blog post that isn't about the bond between humans and animals.  Instead it is a request for assistance. For those that know me, you understand that I never ask for help until I've exhausted all options for doing it myself.  I'm at that point now with my latest writing project.  The link below is to a Kickstarter campaign that I started to raise funds for the final editing of my second novel, Lost Horse Park.  If you can help that would be wonderful but if not that is fine.  All I ask is that you share this link with others as the more people that know about it the better. 

Thanks and have a great day!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1329667794/lost-horse-park-a-novel-by-troy-b-kechely

Dog People

A couple of weeks ago I was having lunch with a good friend of mine who just happens to be my veterinarian.  While chatting, we discussed the topic of people and dogs, specifically people who don’t like dogs and people who do.  The group that doesn’t like dogs requires no explanation as they are who they are, and we accept them even though we might not agree with their views.

Where it becomes a bit more complicated is within the group that likes dogs.  After we each shared experiences about people we knew who ‘liked’ dogs, my friend and I came to the conclusion that there are actually two types of people in that category.  The first, we agreed, were people who are fond of dogs but with conditions.  Those conditions include: the dog is well behaved, doesn’t make a mess, doesn’t cause trouble, isn’t aggressive, doesn’t shed (much), and loves everyone and everything.  Basically, they like a dog as long as it isn’t an inconvenience.  My friend and I each have dealt with our fair share of these types of people, often not in positive ways.  During my time volunteering at the Humane Society of Gallatin Valley, I saw numerous dogs dumped because they were an inconvenience.  Almost always it wasn’t the dog’s fault but was simply a lack of willingness – on the part of the owner - to work with the dog and its issues. Needless to say, my friend and I have limited tolerance for people like that.

The other type of person that likes dogs are those we called ‘Dog People’.  We identified these as the types who, once they take in a dog, it is forever.  Period, no exceptions.  The dog chews up something, and the Dog Person realizes that the dog was just bored and redirecting energy. The Dog Person realizes they need to exercise the dog more and stimulate it mentally as well as not leave things lying around.  The dog acts aggressively towards other people or animals, and the Dog Person invests time into training and socializing the dog, even if it takes years.  If the dog becomes old and can’t do things like it used to, the Dog Person changes their lifestyle to accommodate the dog.  Basically, the Dog Person takes in a dog with the full expectation, and even pleasure, of completely incorporating the dog into their lives. 

There are many examples of these types of people and the fact that you are reading this points to the likelihood that you, yourself, are a Dog Person.  One such example is some dear friends of mine who have been helping with Rottweiler Rescue for over a dozen years.  As husband and wife they never had kids, but, instead, have devoted themselves to caring for rescues they have adopted.  The price of that was that for over five years they never took a vacation, because they weren’t willing to put their dogs in a kennel.  I know that feeling as I’m the same way.  The reason for this is that, like my friends, the dogs I have taken in spent too much of their time isolated in kennels either in rescue or at shelters.  To put them in one again is just not something I’m willing to do if another option exists.  For my friends, they found someone who would house sit for them, allowing them to finally take a much needed vacation. For me, I am fortunate that my parents live nearby and are willing to watch the dogs for me.  Yes, in an emergency, I would put my dogs in a boarding kennel but, being a Dog Person, I will always try and find the solution that least traumatizes my dogs.

Now, this conversation between my friend and I eventually circled back to the problem dogs we have owned and the destruction they have caused.  Most recently for him, this problem dog is his rescued Belgian Malinois. She damaged the interior of his brand new truck when fireworks went off nearby.  For me, it is my girl Carly, who destroyed the front seat of my Subaru while I was gone inside the local hardware store for all of seven minutes.  She wasn’t scared, as had been the case with my friend’s dog. No, Carly was pissed because she couldn’t get to a bird-shaped kite that was whipping around in the wind near my car.  Carly, like many working line dogs, is highly intense with high predatory drives, and if she can’t release her energy on the target of her choosing she will release it on whatever is handy.  In that instance, it was the front seat of my car. 

 I share this because my friend and I both reacted similarly when we discovered the damage.  We didn’t get mad, we just realized what had happened and accepted it for what it was.  We then made changes to our lives (and vehicles) to try and prevent such things from occurring again.  You see, that is what Dog People do: we work with the dog, and, over time, not only does the dog become better behaved but so do we. 

So I ask this of you, what kind of person are you?  Are you a person who likes dogs but only if it isn’t an inconvenience, or are you a Dog Person? If you are the former then do me a favor, don’t get a dog.  Go spend time at the local animal shelter, walking dogs, in order to get your dog fix, but don’t bring a dog into your life unless it is for the entire life of the dog regardless of the inconvenience they might cause.  I ask this because, from my own experience, dogs will most certainly be an inconvenience at some point in their lives.  But you know what? I love them for that and that is why I’m a Dog Person.

 

If dogs are a big part of your life then you will enjoy my first novel, Stranger's Dance.  Check it out at my website www.troykechely.com or on Amazon.  Thanks.

Old Dogs

I have a soft spot for old dogs. There, I admitted it.  They don’t just tug at my heart strings, they jerk them hard enough to knock me off my feet, usually to lay down next to them and pet them as they snore in old dog dreamland.  This applies to all dogs but especially to larger dogs and, of course, to Rottweilers.  There is something about grey muzzles, slow wobbly walks, and droopy eyes that melt whatever resistance I might try to maintain. 

It has always been my dream to have a large Rottweiler retirement ranch, where old Rotties, that no one else wants, can come and live out their days in comfort.  Alas, this is just a dream but it is a nice dream.  In the meantime, I’ve had the pleasure of working with a lot of old Rottweilers over the years, including several I opened my home to.  It is one thing to have a dog from a young age and see it through to the end many years down the road.  For me, that was the case with Mickey and Griz, who lived to ten and thirteen-years-old, respectively.  As dear as those dogs are to me, it was the ones that I had the shortest time that seemed to impact me the most. 

One such dog was named Draco.  I had received a phone call from a shelter in Idaho asking if Big Sky Rottweiler Rescue could help them out.  A member of the community had passed away, leaving his very large Rottweiler behind at his house all alone.  In the month that it took to sort things out, the man’s brother had been stopping by daily to feed the dog but otherwise the poor old dog was by himself. The shelter was desperate to find a home for him, though they knew it would be difficult.  You see, Draco was over ten-years-old and had Cushing’s Disease.  His time was limited, and few people were willing to take in a dog who would die in just a few months.  I didn’t even bother speaking with the other members of Big Sky Rottweiler Rescue. I told the shelter I would adopt him, myself, and began making arrangements.  I didn’t see the point in taking up valuable kennel space when I had a home that was perfect for Draco.  I already had two old dogs, Griz and Grace, so adding one to the canine geriatric ward was not a big deal. 

I didn’t know much about Draco other than that he was old and very big - one hundred and forty four pounds to be exact. I also knew that he was the grand puppy of the Rottweiler that had stared in the motion picture Ferris Bueller’s Day Off with Matthew Broderick. Other than that, I was walking into this one blind. 

I drove down to Dillon, Montana to meet the transport halfway.  Like many rescue transports, the car was not just hauling one dog but many.  The back seat was stuffed full of crates filled with dogs going onto other rescues or forever homes.  There, in the front seat, sitting and looking most uncomfortable, was Draco. He was so stiff from the long ride that he needed help out of the car.  I took him for a short walk before having to help him into my car.  With the entire back end to himself, Draco lay down with such a contented look that I just knew he would fit in. 

Once home, my other old dogs went through the normal greetings, and then they all settled into the old dog routine.  Meal, short walk, sleep all day, meal, short walk, then sleep all night. Such is the life of an old dog.  Another routine was ear rubs.  If Draco had one desire, it was to lay his head on your lap and have you rub his ears.  He seemed to prefer such attention from my step-dad.  Perhaps it was the kindred spirit of two old beings, or maybe Draco just knew that he was the best human from whom to seek such attention.  All I know is that when I first introduced them, Draco walked right over and lay his massive head on my step-dad’s lap and looked up with the saddest eyes imaginable. As my step-dad started to rub Draco’s ears, the old dog let out a sigh so full of contentment it would be impossible to quantify.  At that moment Draco was in heaven. 

After the first few days, I could see that Draco was very overweight due to the Cushing’s Disease, so I put him on a crash diet to give his joints some relief.  By the time he got down to 125 pounds he was more energetic and playful, but the attack on his joints from his illness was taking its toll.  Just six months after he arrived, on Memorial Day 2011, I had to make the phone call that no dog owner ever wants to make.  Draco had collapsed several times, his body finally giving into age and disease.  In tears, I sat on the floor next to Draco, petting him as I talked to my veterinarian who was kind enough to meet me at his clinic despite it being a holiday. 

I backed my car up to my front porch, trying to minimize how far I was going to have to carry the massive dog.  With the tailgate of the car and the house front door opened, I walked back to my room.  Draco was looking so tired, but I decided to see if he had the strength to walk to the car. 

“Do you want to go for a drive?” I said as happily as I could, given the emotions of the moment. Draco’s ears perked up and then, with great effort, he got to his feet and hobbled towards the door.  I was barely able to keep up as he went out the door, and, to my surprise, Draco jumped into the back of the car.  He stood for a moment and then laid down for the last time.  His ride to the vet was not a bad one.  It was a beautiful day, and we stopped for a burger and chicken nuggets which he enjoyed while waiting for Dr. Anderson. 

As the end came, I rubbed Draco’s ears and told him how good a dog he was.  He had been in my life just six months, yet the holes that were left in my heart and the hearts of my mom and step-dad, and all that knew him, were immense.  There is a quote by Bonnie Wilcox that I've always been fond of.   It goes, "Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable. They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well." I have to agree. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to take Draco and I wouldn’t trade any of it, including the grief of his passing. 

As my boy Bradum ages, I’m seeing more and more similarities between him and Draco.  There’s the slowness in his walk, the sad yet loving eyes, and the desire to just be near and to have his ears rubbed.  With each grey hair on his muzzle, I know that the time will come when I have to say goodbye to another old dog.  That is okay though; it is a price worth paying for the blessing they give us, even if only for a short while.

For a fictional story about the bond between humans and dogs, check out my novel, Stranger’sDance. Available in paperback and kindle.