Memorable Dogs in Your Life

[El Tejon]

Saw a thread on THR about dogs, entitled "Which dog for bears and pumas?", or something THResque, I could not help but be reminded of a great dog that I knew growing up.  His name was "Ike", a long-haired Collie; he was the neighbor's dog.  Very intelligent, gentle and somehow noble (if a dog can be noble).

When my brothers, cousins and neighbor kids would play army or football or tag in the backyards he would "herd" us by standing watch over us.  He used to love to ride around in a wagon behind my neighbor's lawn tractor, very Presidential.  When we were picking persimmons or grapes or grill out, he would come out and watch us and we would slip him meat or chicken.

Ike was a great dog who is deeply missed.  What dogs do you remember?

[K Frame]

This is Nikky. She's a great pup, but can be very stubborn




And this is the canine light of my life, Ruger. I almost lost her in December, but she's healthy again and happy and still with me.

[crt360]

One of these:

http://www.akc.org/images/breeds/weimaraner/photos/lg_weimaraner3.jpg

and one of these:

http://www.akc.org/images/breeds/brittany/photos/lg_brittany3.jpg

both long gone on the eternal hunt.

[280plus]

Natasha, 110 lbs of lap Doberman. Used to get her own milkbones out of the cabinet but only when told to do so. Sadly, Dobes never live that long. She lived to be 9, old for a Dobe.

[Preacherman]

I have very fond memories of Newman, a golden labrador.

I adopted Newman when he was only about a year old.  His previous owner had cruelly abused him, hitting him so hard over the head that he developed epilepsy (the vet said it was probably due to scar tissue on the brain).  He had been rescued and was in the SPCA pound, waiting for either adoption or euthanasia.  I came past one day, our eyes met, and that was it - love at first sight!

It took him a few days to realize that I wasn't going to beat him, but as soon as he'd accepted this, he became the most lovable, soppy thing you can imagine.  I had a terrible time persuading him that while it was fine for him to sleep next to my bed, it wasn't fine for him to sleep on it - particularly when I was in it!  A 100-odd-pound Labrador makes an uneasy bedfellow, let me assure you . . .

He had an inordinate fondness for games.  When I came home, he'd leap on me, chew my forearm (very gently, of course), and insist on romping around on the lawn for a bit.  He also loved chocolate, and would go to any lengths to find it.  I didn't give it to him, of course, as the vet told me it was bad for dogs - but on more than one occasion, Newman would ferret out a box of chocolate biscuits from the larder, or a bar of chocolate from my desk, and I'd come back to find the remains of the box or wrapper scattered around the lawn, and him lying there knowing he was about to get into trouble, but with an undisguisedly self-satisfied look on his face, as if to say "It was worth it!"

He was also omnivorous, and loved fruit.  Apples, pears, grapes . . . he'd wolf them down.  This caused a huge problem with the grape arbor where I lived.  There was a walk over 100 yards long, with vines growing up each side and over the top of the path.  We liked to harvest the grapes and eat them, as they were beautifully plump and sweet - but Newman made sure we didn't get that many!  During grape season, every day, he'd solemnly walk up and down the path, and any bunch of grapes within range of his mouth got systematically stripped of its fruit.  He'd come in after half-an-hour drooling grape-juice, with grape skins all over his jowls, looking ridiculously happy with life.  (Never seemed to affect his appetite for supper, though . . . )

To my great sadness, when I left South Africa to come to the USA in 1997, I couldn't bring Newman with me due to the great expense involved, and the quarantine regulations here.  However, I found him a home with a group of priests and brothers in an oratory - six brothers and priests, nine dogs!  He fitted right in, and although they tell me he missed me terribly, at least he was happy with good company.  He passed away in 2002, and I hope he's enjoying the heavenly grapes in the doggie hereafter right now.

[DJJ]

The dog I grew up with would pick corn off the stalks in my parents' garden and eat it just like we would - hold the ear down with both front paws and go from one end to the other with the front teeth. "Picking up after the dog" meant both poop and discarded corn cobs.

My brother used to have an Australian shepherd that would stick her head through a hole in his side gate to look out into the street. When he put in a new gate, the dog went so crazy he had to get a jigsaw and cut a hole in the new gate in the same place.

[Perd Hapley]

Had a mutt named Tessie - part Aussie, part Dalmation, part ?.  A very gentle soul.  She was an outside dog, and my sister and I were always sneaking her into the house when Dad wasn't home.  Unlike some dogs I know, she had enough class to do her business where no one could see it or smell it; probably in the neighbor's hay field.  Loved that dog.  She went on long trips in the woods and we never had a complaint from the neighbors, so she must have been well-behaved.  

She got pregnant almost every season, even though we caged her.  One time a big dog climbed the six feet of chain link just to get at her; Dad had to upset the dog house to get him out.  Then he hung around the house for a week and wouldn't leave until my scrawny, little 5'8'' Dad kicked him hard a few times.  When she got close to delivery time, she would usually manage to slip out the door of the pen at feeding time and crawl under the foundation of an old, empty house next door.  When she'd had the pups, we had to crawl under and get them.  

My wife's dog is named Ginger.  Part Chow, which is probably why she's so high-strung.  Frightened of every little thing.  She was also the runt of the litter.  Her brothers are HUGE, comparitively.  I suppose that explains why she's still afraid of me after two years of constant visits and one year in the same house with her.  She loves me, though, when Mommie's there.  

[Sylvilagus Aquaticus]

I was raised by a Border Collie, Thrasher.

My mom tells stories of how I'd sit on the back porch talking to that dog for hours as a kid. He lived with her long after I'd gone away to college, up until the full age of 15.

I was adopted several years ago by a big short-coated female Chow. She was just a big puppy when I saw her cutting across the yard in the dark one 4th of July night and I thought she was a fox.  I was sitting on the front porch watching the Little League ballgame across the street from the house when she zipped by, then came up looking for something to eat.SHe was with us for 6 years and had a litter of puppies from a huge Newfie; 2 of which we ended up keeping- a blonde and a black, both males. Red Dog (we didn't give her a 'real name'- she was supposed to find another home aside from ours) used to ride in the Suburban, sitting on the console 'doghouse' between the captain's chairs.  We kept one of those non-skid carpet mats there so she wouldn't keep sliding off on either of us in the turns.  The current dogs are great, bu they just don't have strong personalities like they did. SWMBO's dog, a 19 year old Aussie, is coming to the end of her time, and I can't bear to think what's going to happen when she's gone.

Enough from me for now. Something's in my eyes.

Regards,
Rabbit.

[Stand_watie]

Did I mention we have puppies that will be ready to go in a couple weeks?

[Iain]

I'd never owned a dog before we got Theo. We'd had hamsters and cats, but allergy tests done when I was 16 showed that I am virulently allergic to cats and only have the slightest reaction to dogs. So, when my aunt's two springer spaniels had a litter of eight, and one of them was babied by my cousins to the point where he was unlikely to be suitable for an outdoor working life, we went down and picked him up. He turned nine the other day, lives with the parents but is my dog.



Other dogs from childhood...

Zorba - my grandfathers Alsatian. My mother and the same aunt bought him for their dad, he was an amazingly tolerant dog, especially as we kids were only around one week a year or so. That also meant that from our point of view he got old real quick. He went from being healthy looking to being a bit mangy and dusty because he slept in the grain, and the next year he was gone. My grandfather had a golden lab called Ben before that, I just about remember him. Ben is still remembered because he didn't die, we suspect he may have ascended. As an old dog he disappeared into the woods around my grandfather's farm and was never seen again.

A succession of spaniels - Sport, Skip, Pard and Locket. Sport was a devoted old thing, loved my uncle to death, not so sure about anyone else. This was because my uncle had rescued him in the middle of the night from another farmers shed where he had been locked up and abused. He stole that dog, but sometimes theft is ok. Certainly there were no repercussions and it wasn't a secret. Skip was too soft to work and was eventually given away, but I have memories of sitting down in the yard and finding myself on my back with spaniel on my chest, and spaniel tongue on my face.

Pard and Locket are Theo's parents. Locket was small, bandy and stubborn and I suspect Pard may have had some retriever in him, biggest spaniel I ever saw. He got around when he could, she was only interested in him. Other local shooters were very very interested in puppies from this pair. Theo got Pard's face and Locket's legbones, bit of a freak really. Don't like to think about him not being there, he's starting to show some signs of age at nine, but he should go on for a while yet.

[S. Williamson]

One of my best friends growing up on a thoroughbred farm was a pure-bred yellow Labrador Retriever officially named "Gold Nugget."  Everyone called him Nuggie.

Loyal, friendly, big, and smart.  Certainly intelligent enough to convey every emotion a human could, and could learn fast and well.  Would always come bounding up to the back door, no matter how far back in the fields he was (up to a couple miles away).  Occasionally would dig in the wrong spots, but we never minded much.

Tolerated the cats, especially when they were kittens and they didn't know any better.  I remember one kitten that always insisted on playing with his ever-wagging tail, and another who would pass out next to his head during a nap.

When we moved from Kansas to Georgia, his running space was reduced greatly.  He never seemed really happy with the new location, but always had that "best bud" personality.  When we knew we were moving from Georgia to Washington, DC we found a big ol' plantation that was thrilled to have him.  The last time I ever saw him, I looked around and couldn't find him until he jumped out of their pool, ran across the pecan forest/orchard, and knocked me over dripping wet and slobbering all over me.

To this day, I could never hope to ever find another dog that would compare even remotely to him.  I haven't owned a dog since, and doubt I ever will.

I sure as hell miss 'im.

[Leatherneck]

Gunner.

A black Lab bred by my son from working dogs and field champions and given to me after the death of a previous favorite border collie.

Gunner was big and muscular, which gave him arthritic shoulders prematurely. He attached himself to me quickly, and no morning or evening was ever complete without a few throws of "The Bird." At the cottage, he would stay at my command at the foot of the dock while I carried the bird halfway out and threw it as far into the creek as I was able. The G-Man would sit, trembling in apprehension, until I released him with an "OK!" At that, he would shoot out of the blocks to the end of the dock and launch himself in perfect form, landing often as far as twenty feet out in the water. Huge splash that on nice afternoons would stop families in boats to watch and applaud. Then came the strong, certain strokes that Labs are so good at, a turn, and return to the shore. Often, he'd be wearing a Labrador version of a smug grin: "See that? Dam, I'm good!" He'd do that twelve months a year, and only when the ice got over a half-inch would I stop it.

Gunner loved riding in the truck, and on his final day, he went with me to the cottage. When we arrived about five, he sat up, and reacted with fright at the idea of getting out. Wierd behavior. I finally picked him up and got him to the ground, and he painfully made his way to his blanket in the garage and lay down, obviously hurting somewhere. He stayed there, unmoving for several hours while we puttered about in the yard. I got down by him later and he gave my arm and face the most prolonged "kisses" ever. A short while before dark, I was relieved to see him get up and walk slowly toward the lawn that slopes to the beach. We never saw him alive again. I think he had either a stroke or a twisted gut and committed suicide. We found him in the water the next morning.

I've spoken to a few devoted dog trainers about that theory, and a couple have told me they, too, have seen dogs in distress end it all. I guess we'll never know. But I miss Gunner more than any of the dozens of dogs I've had in my life.

TC

[cordex]

Since the thread title is "memorable dogs" and not "favorite dogs" ...

I knew this dog called Gus.  He was a mostly-black-with-dark-brown-smears mutt that belonged to someone near my grandparents' house.  The most interesting thing about Gus was that he would unfailingly run toward anyone shooting a firearm.  Since at the time my only real gun range was in grandma and grandpa's back 40, we saw a lot of Gus.

I remember one mind-numbingly hot day when a friend and I were giving a young woman a chance to put some rounds through a pistol before she took her police qualification test.  As I recall, they had let her fire one magazine through her gun prior to the qualification - any other practice she wanted was on her own time.  Gus came by as usual to see who was shooting and so I spent most of that time playing with him while she shot.

Gus was friendly, and fun to play with, but he disappeared after a few months.  I'm still not sure whether he was killed while bounding towards someone while they were shooting or just left with his owners.

Another dog that sticks in my mind belonged to a lady named Lois in Michigan.  She kindly allowed me to stay in her home when I was taking my first firearms training course with Jim Crews.  Lois owned two big Dobermans.  The male was particularly mean looking, and Lois would put him in the front seat of her truck as a theft and assault deterrent when she would go to town.  The only problem was, as mean as he looked, he was actually quite mild tempered and playful ... oh right, and he had an inner-ear problem that caused him to spin wildly whenever he would try to walk from one place to another.  He'd run around in perhaps twenty complete circles to cover as many feet.  If you could walk, you could get away from him.

[Guest]

Felix was by far the nicest, gentlest, most playful furbuddy I've ever been around.  Considerably smarter than most dogs.

He was a ferret .

[Typhoon]

I grew up on the island of Okinawa (nine years).  One of the things that royally irritated my family was how far too many military folk on an eighteen month or so tour of duty would adopt pets, only to abandon them once the call came for the family to be shipped back.  My family was on the island for the long haul, and ultimately, many of those pets (dogs and cats, and even rabbits) ended up with us.  Often it was my sister, brother and I who did the rescuing.

Finally, my Dad had enough.  WE ARE NOT TAKING IN ANY MORE STRAYS, he proclaimed.  THE END!

Fast forward a month or so.  (You can already see where this is going&)  Dads driving down Kokusai Street towards Koza (now Okinawa City) and spots a two-month old or so puppy stuck in traffic.  Well, Dad did what any decent person would do and rescued the pup.  And brought him home.  And, then stoically suffered the Uh huh, yeah, Dad, No more strays, huh? told-you-so comments from the rest of us.

Of course Dad kept the pup and named the rather funny looking mutt Clown, as only one of his ears could be held erect while the other one flopped over his face.  One morning, Mom went out to give the dog breakfast and found a VERY dead habu snake next to Clowns water bucket.  (Habu is a rather poisonous viper snake  Go, Dog!)

When the recall back to the U.S. came for my family, Clown was transported at considerable expense courtesy of Flying Tigers.  He spent his last years taking field trips with my Dad up in the San Gabriel Mountains.  (Two cats and another dog also came with us.  The remaining rescued animals were found homes with PERMANENT residents.  The rabbit ended up with the owner of the local produce market.  And, no, it was NOT for dinner!)

Clown succumbed to old age and Dad missed him terribly.  So, for Fathers Day, Mom got Dad a wonderful Labrador puppy.  Dad named him Henry.  Henry had a large lot to frolic in, but ultimately decided that the yard was not nearly big enough.  He figured a way out and decided to explore the neighborhood.  He wound up hanging outside the local supermarkets deli counter where he was undoubtedly given some incentive to stick around.  Finally, the store manager called the pound and he was transported off the premises.

Since Henry had a collar and tags and was registered, the folks at the pound easily contacted Dad and asked him to pick up his dog.  But 

The pound folks saw that they had a Labrador dog that was clearly loved and cared for.  Hmmm&Here in this other cage, we have another Labrador.  Hmmm&.I wonder what would happen if we put both dogs together.  Hmmmm&.

Yep.  Dad went to get one Labrador, and came back with two.  

Fast forward another couple of months.  Dad is taking the dog(s) (now plural) up the to mountains to play.  He spots a little Border Collie mix stranded on the grassy median strip of the I 15 freeway.  Uh huh.  Dad started out with two, and came back with three.

What was that about strays again, Dad?

Good Golly, Miss Molly the Border Collie mix had a fun time herding the two much larger dogs, until she, too, finally died of old age.  

What was that about strays again, Dad?

[280plus]

Then there was Willy. Willy was a little Scottie that had been thrown from a car by his previous owner. The injuries cost him all his teeth. Willy was a ferocious little bugger and would snarl and snap and latch onto whatever bodypart was offered to him, however, uh, he had no teeth. It was an intersting thing to have Willy just going on about biting the crap out of you and trying to tear a chunk out of you snarling to beat the band yet the best he could do was gum you to death. So While Natasha was probably my most favorite dog, Willy was the most memorable.

[Robert Sears]

Ebby came to us at about 2 yr old when my Uncle and aunt were trasferred to Englanf in the Air Force and couldn't afford the costs involved  over there and back here. Ebby was a Tricolored Collie. Our neighbor kids(3 &4) liked to ride there wagon down the driveway and out into the street. Ebby stood at the edge of the drive and stopped the wagon by getting hit broadside--repeatedly. Several yrs later the boy did something mom didnot like and she started to spank him. She got in 1 lick and started back on a second. Ebby ran across our yard jumped 2 ft in the air and grapped mom's arm and would not let the boy be spanked. This 65 lb Collie did not leave a mark on the lady's arm or break the skin. Ebby came to us when I was 11 . She disappeared when I was a freshman in College. She had contracted Heartworms. The vet had warned us tha Collies were known to run away if they knew they were sick to save their master the greif of losing them. That was 1970. Yeah I'd say Ebby was a memorable  dog. Through tears. But you have it wrong we don't own the dogs they own us.

Bob

[meinbruder]

The newspaper ad read, good dog for a good home, $25.00.  My wife and I had just bought our first home and I had promised to get a dog as soon as we had a yard for one.  I didnt expect to take the first one we looked at but that has been a trend in our lives for the last twenty-five years.

He lived with a three-generation family who hadnt taken any time to train him.  The grandson of the owner told me he was too stupid to play fetch, terrified of the mower, and couldnt learn to do anything.  I taught the dog to sit on command in fifteen seconds, in front of the kid who seemed to think I used magic.  When we saw the condition of the house he lived in, I couldnt leave him behind.  He was abused, pampered, or neglected; it just depended on who was home at the time.

I fortified the fence; he was an alleged escape artist.  He learned fast enough but as a mix he couldnt compete in obedience trials so I didnt worry about training for competition.  Labrador/ Pit Bull cross, he became my black and brindle bull.  He did have one problem that could never be overcome, an incredible desire to kill any dog on the horizon.  Our first walk was a challenge, the only way to stop him was to lift his front feet off the ground and walk around the target of the moment.  We found him a puppy about a year later; he made a good Poppa Dog and raised several puppies for us.

He dutifully watered the cherry tree and the harvest was exceptional, bumper crops every year of the sweetest Bing cherries imaginable.  He ate every pear that fell off the tree that he could get to ahead of me.  He could hear a mouse fart in the neighbors yard and let me know right away; he didnt take long to become my security chief.  More than one pizza delivery driver asked if I had cameras set up to watch the front of the house.  Every week I had to explain that I paid the garbage man to steal our garbage.

We gave him grace a few years ago; old age was kind to him.  One day he just wasnt there anymore.  His name was Butch, and I will never forget him; the cherry tree hasnt produced a crop since.  Coincidence?      
Mike

[Chuck Dye]

"Can you skin a griz...ur...buffalo, Pilgrim?"

Spent some time in a mine development camp in the Northern Territories of Australia.  One of the camp pets was a huge Rhodesian ridgeback named Pitchblend (uranium mine, get it?)  Every so often, Pitch would go bush, round up several feral water buffalo, thoroughly annoyed, angry, irritated, pissed-off buffalo, and present them to the first available human.  The big, galumphing, happy-go-lucky fool of a dog was absolutely unmistakable in his message:

"Here, you take care of these, Ill go get some more!"

Buffs can do some damage making their escape&

[w turner]

I grew up in a family that wasn't particularly welcoming of pets.  We didn't have one until I was 15 and it was a siamese cat so when my wife and I's wedding was approaching she pretty much laid down the law that we had to have a dog.  I didn't care one way or the other about dogs, but we found an ad in the paper for free dogs that were 1/2 German Shepherd.  We drove out to the house and picked up the first one that got to us.  

  Samson ended up being more my dog than hers.  He was about 50lbs and would usually sleep on my chest when I slept on the couch(I worked 3rd shift at the time).  We went everywhere together and he was a huge clown at home when it was just us.  Anytime we were out in public or anyone was at our house he was very watchful and protective.  He looked like a long haired Belgian Malinois and was just about that high energy.  Sadly, he disappeared March 8, 2004.  We let him and Sera our GSD out to do their business for the night and Sam never cam back.  We don't know if coyotes got him or if someone stole him, but I looked for him all night and all the next day, put up flyers, offered substantial rewards and took out ads in the paper, but neer found him.  

We have had other dogs come into and out of our house since then, but I have never bonded with any dog like I did with him.  

W