The Black Dog

I'd like to introduce you to our old farm dog, Bandit. He is "The Black Dog."

As a puppy, Bandit was a solid black, fluffy bundle of energy. His parents were both large animals, black Labrador and German shepherd. He matured into a beautiful dog who could keep strangers at bay with his massive shepherd-like appearance. He topped out around 100 lb....less in the summer and definitely more in the winter. He was intelligent and attuned to the people in his life. He took to his job as farm and watch dog comfortably and instinctively, but was a much loved member of the family as well.

When Bandit was 7 weeks old, he was destined to go to a family who had lost a treasured pet. But it just didn't work out that way. Delays occurred, people went out of town, and, somehow, he wound up visiting our dog-less home when a dog-sitter was needed. Then the family decided they didn't want a dog after all.

In the meantime, this tumbling, barrel-chested puff ball is burrowing his way into our family's collective heart. He played, he cuddled, he fetched! And in between, I'm making the frantic phone calls: "When's someone coming for this puppy? Well, he can't stay here; I don't want a dog!"

But he was making headway with me too. Did you ever have a puppy that never messed in the house? Come on, right? Nope, seven whole weeks old and he never had an accident of any kind. At night he stayed in our room with the door closed. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and he'd be crying, so I'd get up and take him out. Business, done, he went right back to sleep. Hmmm, and Ron and the kids already love him...

One evening I walked in on a conversation taking place in the kitchen. Ron and Aaron were sitting side by side on the floor, leaning against the cabinets and petting Bandit who was stretched out across their laps, loving every minute of it. Then the fateful words: "Aaron, don't you think you should tell mom you want to keep this puppy?"

"Ron Dassler, I heard that!" A pair of faces snapped up to look at me--one smiling innocently and one not so innocently. "What? Don't you think Bandit would be a good puppy for Aaron?" He's still grinning at me when he asks this because he knows I won't (can't) say no: "All right, you just remember, whatever happens, you did this, not me!"

Famous last words, but never a regret. Memories of a big dog sitting at the tip of the tallest snowbank in a driving snowstorm, his nose in the wind. Remembering how strong and fierce he could look. Fond memories of him playing with Ron and the kids in or out of the house. Sweet memories of him sneaking across my lap to lay his head on my shoulder to get his morning hug as I drank my coffee at the kitchen table.

Bandit was the best, our Black Dog.



I'll post a few of our special Black Dog stories soon.

Mary