In memory of that dear old blue German Shepherd, Oso
ca December 1, 2007 - May 20, 2010
For some reason I don't have photos of Oso as a brand new puppy and very few of him in his best years. Hence in the banner above there are images of him at the age of two, giving me his paw, of him resting on the sofa with a 9/11 flag nearby, of him in a plastic collar following minor surgery. Then we skip to his last few years. A couple of years before his death he tore the ACL in his back right leg, and for many months wore a leg brace made specially for him by Orthopets in Denver -- which helped a lot. What a time my daughter, her future husband and I had casting his leg so the canine orthotists could get the brace right. Oso didn't resist, we just had a hard time with the molding. Later Oso would rise from his bed in the morning and position himself exactly so that I could easily strap the brace on. Fast learner, that dog… Another photo's of him on a striped bed with his dinner bowl beside him. He started looking hopeful about "room service" in his last year until he got it! That pooch had me well trained… Another has Oso sniffing the back patio at sunset -- and a reflection of that sunset showing to the east behind him. A full circle kind of sky. He's there checking out his new extra-firm bed and one last photo of him on May 20, 2010, showing so clearly the pain I could no longer bear to watch. A peerless friend was Oso, all those years. He will not be forgotten.
Memories of Oso and the donkeys
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First time we saw him he was smaller than a cat, with with tawny soulful eyes and a too-big head oversized for his undernourished little frame. Some girls had found him wandering along the street and taken pity on the scruffy waif. From house to house they carried him along a couple of streets, but nobody knew or wanted him. Till he reached our house, that is. After listening to the story of their kindly efforts, I looked into the little scrap’s eyes. He said, “I am your dog.” I said, “I’ll take him.” This was early in the blustery month of March 1998. Later the vet put the puppy’s birth at either November or December of 1997.
Jericha, my daughter, was twelve at the time; nobody could have been a better caretaker for a new puppy. She helped set him up in a carpetless corner pending potty training, took her turns whisking him outside frequently, sat near while he ate his puppy chow, and proudly escorted him into the vet’s office for his first few visits and shots. All the while we were wondering what on earth sort of dog this fellow would turn into, since he resembled a coyote more than anything and was blue with tan trim. A person who raised German Shepherd Dogs thought he was mainly GSD, perhaps with a touch of husky. As he grew steadily from cat size to rangy small dog to gangly adolescent and finally heavy boned adult topping out around 84 pounds it became obvious that he was full German Shepherd, blue. With nice big teeth that loved to chew the rungs on dining room chairs and rip stuffing out of pillows when no one was looking.
He attended three levels of obedience school with Jericha at the other end of the leash, dutifully marching around in circles with over a dozen other young dogs. He did avoid learning the down stay, succeeded readily in the lesson on avoiding snakes, and went right along with the concept of poison proofing -- no food passes this pooch’s lips unless he hears the magic release word.
This was the high point in his training. Afterwards he relapsed more into natural inclinations. For over a year he started nipping people's ankles. Thank heaven no one was badly hurt. It was so fast, after the first time or two I could see when it was coming, but wasn't fast enough to intervene. I started using a perfectly awful sound to "snap him out of it." We went through much experimenting and more training. Whether it was that or merely that he finished that particular stage of growth, he thankfully began turning into the kind of mellow fellow who doesn't bother with people beyond growling at those who concerned him… Briefly he relapsed after some burglars paid a visit one day while I was at work, and tried to nip the ankle of the sheriff's deputy who came to report the incident. The skinny, middle aged Dep in his creaky leather belt and boots, shiny bright star badge and fancy epaulets never took his eyes off me, but his boot shot out and connected with Oso before a bite got started. I was duly impressed. Evidently Oso was, too. "Oh -- consequences…" Eventually the dog became so pleasant that he was allowed to remain inside when people came and went, lying peacefully on his bed and hoping for ear rubs. He even came out with a little sing song sound that went nicely with his big, round eyes and perked up ears, convincing people to lean over and give him a rub.
He could still scare people. One night a suspicious alarm system salesman came to the door, asked a lot of questions and even wanted to come inside to see the existing system. I moved aside a little, at the door, to give the young man a view of Oso, lying on his bed with his teeth in evidence. He left.
His best years were spent romping around with our other dogs, relaxing alongside the donkey fence while a donk or two dozed nearby, leading the canine charge whenever a car pulled into the driveway. He was capable of looking ferocious enough to deter door-to-door salespeople from including us in their efforts. We lived in a rural spot where the neighbors didn't have much of a view of us. All sorts of people would walk and ride by on horseback, most friendly but a few downright scary. So Oso's protective presence was very, very appreciated. The day the burglars toted off a bunch of old junk and all my old family jewelry, I came home to find the dogs still safe in the back yard and thanked the Good Lord that they were not harmed. The stuff I could live without, but not the dogs.
This friend went through Life's Big Changes with me, for sure. Divorce, returning to full time work, the death of my mother, raising a teen alone (he was a big help in providing security when my daughter had to be home alone after school), seeing the daughter off to college, into her own world of work and marriage, transitioning from a person who had been glad to walk with crutches and leg braces for fifty years to one who spent hours a day in a power chair, then moving with me thirty miles south into a much smaller place. He helped me see my beloved donkey companions off to their new home, as he had earlier stayed near while I mourned the death of the ancient mule I loved so much, a sweet cat and a couple of other dogs. "I'm here for you" might have been burned into his psyche, as he exemplified the meaning of that term.
He began showing signs of hip dysplasia when he was eight or nine years of age. Medicine kept the spark steady in his eye, right up till the last year or so. The torn ACL came out of his difficulties with walking and falling. Like me, his health challenges were musculoskeletal, and that's what finally brought the vet to our home that day to peacefully let him go to sleep, surrounded by love.
There are many things I could not have done without this dog's help. He taught me a lot, and you know, that's a good tribute to a wee scrap of fluff some breeder probably tossed out on a ditch bank because he was blue and not the regular looking German Shepherd Dog.
Oso helping me fill the stock tank for the donkeys, 2008
