This morning as I wiped my senior dog’s snotty nose and gave him his joint meds, I thought about how lucky I have been to have such amazing dogs. Seems like there has always been a dog in my life with a few short exceptions between them. Cruiser, my current English Mastiff boy is 10. At 219lbs he is large, long, and lean and walks with a limp in the rear from an old cat injury that resulted in a broken leg. He has a nasal tumor and often nosebleeds. He has fatty tumors, arthritis, and a beautiful grey – silver muzzle. Some days he is energetic and tosses you a toy while spinning to entice you to play, others he just wants his head in your lap and comfort petting. He is by far the sweetest pup I have ever owned. I understand the life cycle of giant breeds and I know what is on the horizon, I’ve accepted it, but I will fall apart on that day. It is near, I feel it.
My puppy love prior to Cruiser was Little Buddy, another English Mastiff boy weighing in at a light 198lbs, he was not as long as Cruiser but was taller and leaner. Buddy loved to play tug; he was a snuggler who had to lay on you like a large blanket every evening. And Buddy purred, yes! Like a cat! But only for me. When he was born the breeder placed the pups into a whelping box that was also being filled with newborn kittens at the same time. Buddy and his siblings and the 8 kittens shared the whelping box for the first weeks of their life, it was there that Buddy learned to purr. On cold winter days, I’d lay on the couch and watch tv and Buddy laid overtop with his head on my shoulder to keep me warm and purred while he napped. It was wonderful. He was a funny boy; he wasn’t allowed on the bed and knew that my husband would shout and he would get into trouble if he tried. Buddy slept in his daybed and would wait every morning just long enough to let my husband leave for work, then he made rounds checking windows to make sure that truck was gone, he’d rush down the hall and jump into bed curling up next to me with his head on my husband’s pillow for an hour before my alarm went off. One spring day, my hubs came back to pick up his forgotten phone and we were awakened with What the hell is this? Buddy just yawned and went back to sleep, opening one eye to see if he was in trouble, which he was. He was a smartie. A few weeks later at age 4.5 my hubs went into the house for a Pb&j as he did every day with the expectation that Buddy would get the last bite as he did every day, he called but Buddy did not come running as usual. My hubs found my sweet boy laying in his bed with his toy and my funny, sweet puppycat was gone. My vet called it a k9 cardio event. I called it heartbreaking.
It took me a good 9 months to find another pup. I have extensive requirements for breeding and pretesting that most small breeders can’t or won’t meet. Cruiser’s breeder did and then some. I visited his parents throughout the pregnancy, met Cruiser’s grandmother who was the most impressive female mastiff I’ve ever met, she greeted me when I pulled up, grabbed my hand with her huge mouth and led me to the puppies. His grandmother spent time picking up pups and placing them back into the whelping box when they escaped and did her best to mother them. Cruiser’s mom could care less, she had them and was over the mom thing. I was included in everything by his breeder, they were wonderful. At 6 weeks old, I spent 6 hours with puppies running and playing trying to get a feel for personalities, I had first pick and I’d narrowed it down to the boys at the 2nd hour and was in the garage with just them. Cruiser was this big old chunky fellow who outweighed everyone by 6lbs and was so stocky and clumbsy. I was leaning towards the runt, a tiny little guy with beautiful fawn markings and a serious personality when Cruiser ran behind me yanked my ponytail, then ran in front and flopped down in my lap demanding belly scratches. He did this 3 times, and it was then clear that he had chosen his human. I am still the person he rushes to for anything. He was an easy pup, house broken in a week, crated 2 weeks then gradually he claimed room by room until he free roamed at 3 months. Super quick! He never chewed, destroyed, or crapped inside, he is and always has been very particular old soul and lets you know when something has changed or moved.
Before Buddy there was Rollie, Mikhailov Zorrrba was his name on paper, and he had quite the life! I was living in Darmstadt Germany and had been on a waiting list in Czechoslovakia for a Male Czec Rotti for 2 years when one morning at 2 am I get this random call from a gruff voice that said, “you want puppy, the bitch died, come get puppy now” and by 2:30 I was on the road in the dark driving alone like a nut job to another country to pick up a puppy from a stranger. Looking back, it wasn’t a very wise decision. It was several hundred miles, through several countries and I had to go through several Russian check points and could have literally vanished at any time. But I made it, parked, and walked to the big metal door at the back of this old building and knocked as I was told. This very large man and his bearded wife led me to a big box with tiny little black furballs in it all snuggled up and said “you pick puppy, we get 2,000 American). I said I pick puppy and you get 1500 American since they were new puppies and he grunted, shoved a box at me with bottles, formula, instructions written in Czec and WKC papers and said choose. I went home with the tiniest pup that literally fit in the palm of my hand.
Rollie was a total ham. For the first 6 months of his life, he was rarely allowed to walk, everyone carried him everywhere. My friend Kim had a tiny young daughter, Desi, who at just under 2 spent a lot of time carrying, snuggling, and rolling him around. He had the biggest belly and would often lay on his back and get stuck so Desi would sing rollie poly, rollie poly over and over, she loved 101 Dalmations, while she helped him roll over. We had tried calling him every name under the sun and he had said no but Desi could say Rollie or Poly or both and he followed her everywhere, Rollie had chosen his person and his name.
I threw Rollie into a backpack and took the Strauss into Eberstadt each day for work, and each morning the old ladies would line up on their front steps with pieces of salami, beef, lamb and would one by one give him morning snuggles and kisses and then would line up in the afternoon to do the same as we went home. At our stop and train change in Luisinplatz, the shop owners did the same. It was rare to see a puppy as most were kept in kennels and trained before being allowed to go to their permanent home. By 3 months Rollie was walking his route with attitude and loved the attention, he marched upstairs onto front porches, into shops and demanded his goodies. This dog went everywhere with me, to work daily where Bendt had made a special bed and play area and a small garden for him to use, to weekend exploration trips, shopping, restaurants, trains, and to see friends. He visited more countries than most humans and Rollie was hell on wheels as a pup. He refused to “leave it” and often would leave you a “gift” in retaliation for being scolded. You would find him stuck in suitcases, under bookcases, climbing things, chasing things, chewing shoes, and all the classic bad dog behavior. He grew into a beautiful companion pup who was very loyal and protective.
By age 2 we were saying goodbye to Darmstadt and traveled back to Seattle. Rollie and his brother, a German Shepherd adopted in Austria, Lasco Von Zanderhoff, were very unhappy with our choice and could not understand how they went from total freedom and friends to stay in the truck, you are unwanted in American shops and restaurants and must be contained and leashed. They didn’t understand that the life quality of an American dog is not ever remotely as good as a German. They went from being dog kings to doggy outcasts in a week, and it was so damn hard. After moving to NC, they did learn to bark at the speaker at McDonalds and had a friend at the window who understood that bark as code for cheeseburger.
At age 6 while in NY I was walking Rollie who was doing everything but what he was supposed to, and a stranger yelled from 3 stories up in Czech all excited and babbling about some bitch. He flew down the stairs, gave Rollie a once over and offered a stud fee of $7k. It seemed simple enough, both dogs have a vet check which the guy paid for, paperwork filed with the WKC, breeder consent, a warm room and two dogs doing it but no……my boy was not interested in the lady chosen for him and instead of impregnating her he bit the crap out of her and cost me 7 stitches and a trip to NY. Tried it again the following month, the female took charge and 22 hours later Rollie did his thing, and she was pregnant. 8 little fur balls sold for $5k each. His stud days were over, one bite and 7 stitches were enough. Through out his 17 years, Rollie had all kinds of adventures, met so many people, almost died mourning the death of Lasco, he saved me from a pit bull attack, he helped pick out my clothes each morning, he was kind, gentle, loving, protective and wonderful. He protected everyone not just me, the little neighborhood girls getting yelled at by parent to come home, tiny found kittens, his truck, his yard, his toys, his blanket, his grandparents, everything, and everyone.
Rollie’s body failed him, at 17 his mind was the same, he was the same, but his body and his hips were not. I had to help him balance when he pooped and helped him up when he needed to go out or walk, I guided him as his vision failed, and I cleaned up when his bladder could no long hold it. I covered him with warm blankets when cold and I laid on the floor with him because he could no longer jump. And I chose to let him go.
On the scheduled day, he was having a good day. He was happy, the sun was shining, he was feeling good enough to visit the geese on the lake, gave me his dinosaur, and was rolling in the sweet spring grass in the sunshine. The fact that he was having a "good" day made me debate internally and I almost chickened out, I still question my decision even though I know it was one made for him. I took Rollie to his McDonalds and his friend cried as she gave him his last cheeseburger. My vet had closed her office early and staff had all came together to say goodbyes. They had a special blue blanket for him, and we all sat on the floor around him. Rollie had survived Europe, the US, getting hit by a drunk driver and surgery, the loss of his brother, and the loss of his bodily functions but it was time to let my sweet boy release the daily pain he lived with just to please me. Surrounded by friends, my face was the last thing my sweet boy saw and smelled as he quietly and quickly left.
I have never cried as hard and as long as I did after letting Rollie go. It took me hours to dig his grave, I did it alone and myself. I buried him in his favorite blanket, with his favorite toys, in his favorite place to sun near the lake and it broke my heart. It was 2 years before I found Buddy.
Now I watch my sweet love, Cruiser snuggle, play and struggle and I will do my best to give him the best ending possible because he deserves it. He is perfect. He is also my last Gentle Giant. I am somewhat of a dog snob, I like the big guys, I love protecting breed integrity and disposition, and I am not attracted to little dogs. Yes, they are cute but they have little rat feet that make that tapping sound on floors, they fit in tiny purses and just kind of dog and I expect more so I’ve decided that Cruiser will be my last boy at least for a few years.
For now, I’ll enjoy Woogie's greetings, his snuggles, his demands for hugs, his snores, his passion for laying in my path no matter where that is and his soulful stares as he looks at me with pure love and I will always remember that he chose me.
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