Tuesday, December 08, 2015
On December 8th, 2010, a small pick-up truck pulled into my driveway and a nice couple from Maryland who foster German Shepherds for a rescue society dropped off this pain in the ass.
While he explored my house, they slipped out the door, and he wailed like a baby when they drove away without him. Then he lay by the window and cried nonstop for the next two days. His whole life thus far had been one of abandonment by one person after another (or the dog pound), and here he'd just been ditched again, at least in his mind.
I've had other rescue shepherds in the past, most notably Lagniappe, who wasn't exactly a bucket of sunshine himself when I first took him home, but this new dog four years ago would have tried the patience of Job and driven Mother Teresa to cuss. He was clingy to the point of being my second shadow, and he'd cry loudly if I so much as left the room and closed a door between us. Outside, if he could get off-leash, he was nearly impossible to recover, an annoying and potentially dangerous habit that he still has to an extent today.
steals off of the counters, and he's stubborn beyond belief when he wants his way. But on the other side of the coin, he's dependable and trustworthy around people that I allow into our house, while at the same time he's "no quarter" guardian of the house when strangers approach, whether I'm home or not. This is his home and he will defend it, and I am his person, and he's loyal and protective, if not exactly entirely obedient or subservient.