Hansie came to live with us ten and a half years ago as a scared, skinny, worm infested and mangy puppy. A guy I worked with told me he had a new Dobie puppy; the person he got him from had several more puppies he was giving away because the mother had a litter when she wasn't supposed to. Carol, my wife, had owned two Dobies before and it had been seven or eight years since she lost the second one, Gretel, and I thought it would be good to have a dog in the house again. We went over to Stone Mountain just "to look" at them. There were five little puppies in a large cardboard box--three black, one red and one fawn. Since Carol's Gretel was a red female, and the red was a female, we had gone to look at her. We came home with the fawn male.
When he was four months old, we took him for obedience training, but after the second or third session we were forced to stop because Hansie had fallen in love with another young dog in the class, a chocolate lab (who could blame him, she was adorable, but she was also in heat). Once he got a sniff of her, it was all over as far as obedience training was concerned and it also sped up the need for having him neutered.
As a young dog, Hansie was all the things a Doberman is expected to be. Physically strong; even more strong willed and stubborn; full of energy; curious; extremely intelligent; fiercely loyal to his family, completely devoted to me, his master. But, he was also afraid of loud noises, could not stand being left alone (yes, the vet diagnosed "separation anxiety" and for a while put him on Prozac), and of all things, was afraid of CLOWNS. I'm not kidding, clowns.
He hated crows, squirrels, uninvited birds, meter-readers, and anyone who walked on his street without his permission. His bark demanded attention and respect. No one came onto our property without Hansie's permission. It was his domain, his turf, his 'hood. It was an amazing sight to see him leap off the eight foot embankment from the pool into the yard and hit the ground at full speed on his way to shoo away any intruder who might want to feast on "his" blueberries. When the grandkids and their friends swam and played in the pool, Hans was right there in the middle of them even though Carol assured me there was no way a Doberman would ever get in water.
He was truly "lifeguard dog". Once you were accepted, though, you were family and all was right with the world. You have never been safer in your life.To be a part of Hansie's family meant that you were loved beyond human understanding. Every time you entered the house, you would receive a gift-- a shoe, one of his toys, my underwear, depending on what was closest to him at the time. When "his kids" pulled up in the driveway, he would race through the house, wagging his nubby tail with an excitement and joy that said "Boy, have I missed you, thank God your here!" He could tell when my car was on our street and would start his routine.
Over the years Hans did what all of us do--aged. He didn't leap off the hill anymore, or chase birds and squirrels with the same zest and vigor he used to, and he didn't get in to as much trouble as he did when he was in his salad days. Yes, there was a time when it was dangerous to leave a piece of meat on the counter or chocolate candy in reach of his long, curious snout. And, of course we have a wing dedicated to us at the emergency vet clinic over on Highway 41 from all of the trips we made after running through a window or door, or getting stung by a zillion bees. But the last couple of years have been pretty quiet. He spent a lot of time sleeping on our bed upstairs and when I would get home from work in the evening rather than meeting me at the door as he did when he was younger, now he would come around the corner with his usual gift of greeting in his mouth.
Last summer I took him on a walk with me around the neighborhood. About a mile and a half into the walk he became exhausted and literally had to lie down in the cool shade to rest several times before we made it back home. That really scared the daylights out of me and was a real wakeup call that he wasn't the pup he used to be. In November, I took him to the vet for a check up and she told me he had developed a cardiac arhymia. She said that this was a common condition in older Dobies and, while not an emergency, we should keep an eye on the situation. She suggested that we might want to have a consult with an animal cardiologist. Well, I thought, after we get through the holidays and into the spring I will follow up on her recommendation.
The first week back to school after the Christmas break there was a bad cold front to come through. The television stations had been predicting snow and freezing weather for several days, and sure enough, Thursday evening we got both snow and ice and really cold temperatures. The next day, Friday, January 8, school was cancelled and both Carol and I were home. We had planned to stay inside where it was warm and cozy and off the streets away from the demolition derby the icy streets would cause.
A little bit after noon, Hans brought his leash to me and put it in my lap with his head cocked to the side, that demanding look of his which said, "Let's go for a walk!" I complained, "No Hansie, it's really cold outside." A second and then a third time he put the leash in my lap. Finally, I gave in and put on my coat and gloves and hat thinking we would go across the street to the bottom of the hill and back. There was no way of knowing it would be my last walk with him.
We made it across the icy street and started down the hill walking on the snowy shoulder of the street avoiding the ice. Then it happened. Hans back legs went out from under him, his head reared back, and he fell over. I caught him before his head fell to the snow covered grass. He was unconscious and somehow I knew he was gone. He did not move, did not respond to my voice, did not show any signs of life. I raced back to the house to get Carol and while she stayed with Hans, I got my Land Rover. When I pulled up to him our neighbor, Marian, had come over from walking her dog to assist us. We lifted him into the back of the car and raced off to the veternarian. They made an effort to revive Hansie, but I knew he was gone the second he went down.
There aren't words enough to express how much I miss him. Sometimes the silence when I walk in the house makes me want to scream out loud and run the other direction. I have made it through this month by thinking of everything I can remember about him--not just the good things, or the bad things, funny things, things that made me angry, made me happy, made me crazy. There is peace in knowing he did not suffer and that when his time came he was doing what he loved most and that was taking a walk with me.
One thing is for sure, you don't own a Doberman Pincher.
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