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Here's a nod to the best dog I ever knew, and probably ever will.
He hated so badly to be away from us that when he was younger he'd tear the house apart whenever he was left alone. We couldn't figure out how he was escaping his great big durable dog-crate until my stepfather watched him through the window head-butting the metal grate door until it bent and popped open.
He was so afraid of thunderstorms that this huge 110lb animal would shake and cry. My parents had to make a "panic room" for him out of his crate. It was filled with pillows and blankets and had a rug over the entry so he couldn't see the lightning. A CD player sat on top playing his favorite CD of tropical ambient music so he didn't have to hear the thunder.
A little kid saw Oliver in our yard once and yelled, "Daddy look it's a bear!"
When he came home for the first time, the very first thing this puppy did was poop on the floor and I'd never seen anything like it. The pile of poop was half his size; we still don't know how it all fit inside him in the first place.
He used to be best friends with a cat we used to own, a laid-back and friendly animal named Spike. They shared food from each other's bowls.
He was bottle-fed as a puppy and still liked for humans to hold his bone for him so he didn't have to do it himself.
One time he got a piece of his rubber chew toy stuck on his tongue, and when he couldn't lick it off, the spoiled brat turned to my stepfather and lolled his tongue out, leaving my stepfather to reach in and lift off the offending rubber fragment.
When he lost his eye because intraocular pressure was causing him pain and blinding him, he started turning his blind side to any human that tried to chide him, so that you'd know he was ignoring you.
He instinctively sought out the smallest and weakest around him to watch over, often resulting in great distress for him in the face of scared toddlers, because he didn't realize he was the one who made them cry. He got upset and went to retrieve the humans because he didn't know what to do. We began telling children "He's kind of big and scary, but you can't let him know that he scares you. Or he might cry." To which they would solemnly nod.
He was half bullmastiff and half black lab, so he was a wet-mouthed rather oily and smelly sort of beast, but a better temperament I may never encounter again.
He died this morning.
I didn't pay him nearly the tribute he deserved in life, so here it is belatedly. Oliver, we probably didn't deserve you so we were lucky as hell to have you around.
He hated so badly to be away from us that when he was younger he'd tear the house apart whenever he was left alone. We couldn't figure out how he was escaping his great big durable dog-crate until my stepfather watched him through the window head-butting the metal grate door until it bent and popped open.
He was so afraid of thunderstorms that this huge 110lb animal would shake and cry. My parents had to make a "panic room" for him out of his crate. It was filled with pillows and blankets and had a rug over the entry so he couldn't see the lightning. A CD player sat on top playing his favorite CD of tropical ambient music so he didn't have to hear the thunder.
A little kid saw Oliver in our yard once and yelled, "Daddy look it's a bear!"
When he came home for the first time, the very first thing this puppy did was poop on the floor and I'd never seen anything like it. The pile of poop was half his size; we still don't know how it all fit inside him in the first place.
He used to be best friends with a cat we used to own, a laid-back and friendly animal named Spike. They shared food from each other's bowls.
He was bottle-fed as a puppy and still liked for humans to hold his bone for him so he didn't have to do it himself.
One time he got a piece of his rubber chew toy stuck on his tongue, and when he couldn't lick it off, the spoiled brat turned to my stepfather and lolled his tongue out, leaving my stepfather to reach in and lift off the offending rubber fragment.
When he lost his eye because intraocular pressure was causing him pain and blinding him, he started turning his blind side to any human that tried to chide him, so that you'd know he was ignoring you.
He instinctively sought out the smallest and weakest around him to watch over, often resulting in great distress for him in the face of scared toddlers, because he didn't realize he was the one who made them cry. He got upset and went to retrieve the humans because he didn't know what to do. We began telling children "He's kind of big and scary, but you can't let him know that he scares you. Or he might cry." To which they would solemnly nod.
He was half bullmastiff and half black lab, so he was a wet-mouthed rather oily and smelly sort of beast, but a better temperament I may never encounter again.
He died this morning.
I didn't pay him nearly the tribute he deserved in life, so here it is belatedly. Oliver, we probably didn't deserve you so we were lucky as hell to have you around.
