My family had a parrot and an older German Shepherd. The parrot said "Halt deinen Mund" and "Verfickter Scheißdreck" often. I felt that it was always directed at me. It didn't talk like that to anybody else. I just said "Shut up, bird!" every time. This bird had an axe to grind and I wasn't going to take it lying down. I later found out what those two phrases mean. "Shut your mouth" and "F***ing sh**". Touché, bird. Touché.
The dog was the most well behaved and calmest dog I ever had. She would follow me everywhere I went. She wasn't trained but I think all the years had shown her how the world worked. No leashes required. One thing she kept doing that I still don't understand is she would lick my piss every time I relieved myself outside whenever I felt like it. Maybe it was her idea of cleaning up after me.
I don't remember how she and the parrot died. I wish I could remember their names.
My dad's friend gave us one of his dogs, a Pitbull, that had seriously bitten someone and the owner didn't want to see him get put down. He showed no signs of aggression. If dad allowed him to be around me, he must not have been that bad. He was playful and got along really well with other dogs. It was definitely the human who was to blame.
We never had more than two dogs at a time and when they died, we got more. Kind of a necessity when you have a farm. I think dad felt better when there were dogs around me. They protected me time and time again from foxes, coyotes and snakes. God, how much I hate snakes. I didn't know back then that not every hospital carried every kind of antivenom and it helped your chance of survival greatly if you knew what kind of snake you had been bitten by. I think it still rings true today (correct me in a message if I'm wrong). I saw it as a death sentence, a painful way to die. As I grew up, I learned that snakes don't just attack willy-nilly. They prefer to just take off when threatened and only fight back as a last resort. Regardless, the dogs killed them all the same. They never missed.
Now, this one was the odd one out of the bunch, Billy, a male Dalmatian, born to be free as a bird. He was more interested in everything else but people. Nice dog but he liked to run off way too many times. The first one that needed a leash. We got it because of The Hundred and One Dalmatians. I think his spirit matched the book. One time, I was just sitting outside, minding my own business, having a burger. He came up to me from behind, all stealthy like, then quickly snatched my burger right out of my hands and ran away. I've never been bushwhacked so badly in life.
One day, he was just lying down, not being himself. Something to do with his stomach. We didn't know what. The next day, he was dead, at only two years old. My last memory of him was seeing him walk past the front door, appearing alive and well. Maybe that was his ghost I was seeing, finally set free.
I didn't cry but I was sad. Looking back now I would be lying if I said his life was memorable. I remember his death more vividly than his time with me. I'm shedding a few tears as I'm writing this.
This dynamic duo was very special to me. They arrived as puppies, a male Rottweiler and a female mix of something... Woody and Casey (and no, I didn't name them). Woody was hyperactive, so full of energy, as a young puppy should be. Casey was a lazy lady who would prefer just to sit around all day and it seemed to be all she wanted to do. If only Woody's excessive energy could be transferred to her. Woody was our favorite. He liked to run, a perfect companion for jogging. Casey was just content watching everybody else have fun. She was partial to a good belly rub though, which I liked to give her. Woody knew how to cheer us up, make us feel special. He would just run up and jump at me, begging for a big hug. We taught him a few commands. Only thing we couldn't teach him was how to be calm while eating. He would growl at us if we got near him with his food, acting like he was going to attack but he never did. Casey was a dog that you could leave in a room for a few hours and come back to find that everything had been left untouched.
They made babies during one cold winter. We gave them away. There were too many.
One day, he came up to my dad like he was trying to tell him something was wrong with the stomach. Again. The pattern was suspect. Dad had a theory, that a certain neighbor poisoned him, someone we had disputes with in the past. There was a million things he could have eaten that would make him sick. But you'd think that a dog in this kind of environment would have known better.
I don't remember the details but the vet couldn't help him. Dad put him down. Casey died a couple weeks later of a broken heart. 6 years old. Gone too soon. I was old enough to comprehend death as a grown person should. I was away when he died. I was only a day late.
We buried our dogs on our farm. These two were the ones I would make headstones for, had I known it was a thing. Dad believed dogs are animals and should be treated as such. He also believed in the afterlife.
I watch dad dig two graves and bury them. I say "I wish you would be reborn as my dog again." He says "No, not as a dog but a person."
This was the first time I understood the meaning of having no closure. I didn't get to say goodbye.
We never got any more dogs after that. At this point in time, we didn't need them on the farm and I just graduated. Also, I think it hurt too much for both of us.
Sorry I had to end this on a somber note. I didn't plan to but it has gone on long enough for one sitting. I need to get some air.
