My handsome prince
Bud was never supposed to be mine. He was supposed to die. He suffered more then any dog should to walk a path that brought him to me, baggage and all.
Through our entire relationship he was a rock, eternal and never changing. Not a good pet, never that, but a great dog. He never learned to be nice, saw no reason to. But the same dog that would take on all comers would bury his face in my shirt during storms, or fireworks.
The first night he was with me he jumped six feet onto the roof of my garage from the raised dog run and proceeded to take a stand from 15 feet above the driveway. While various people deterred a jump I climbed up with him, stood my ground against several lunges and talked him down.
The day he slipped his collar I grabbed him and sustained a few good bites, deflected from my face, to get a leash around his neck and get him back home.
Our relationship started out with me repeatedly walking into his own little **** to bring him back out. Over the years we forged an unbreakable bond that was tested time and again.
Heir to the throne, he was the male his breeder had been hoping for. Sadly the title would never pass. He proved to unstable for work, and since no one could say if it was a genetic issue or the result of abuse he was washed out. Coupled with him being somewhat over size, the plan to breed him was a no go. Before it could ever be revisited, his breeder passed away.
I had debated that in more skilled hands he may go further, he had other plans. No one else could handle him. He would come up the leash at any challenge or misstep, he put a couple of trainers on tables and muzzled he simply used his massive head as a battering ram and took people down anyway.
Fences were a joke to him. A standard 6' fence barely made him break stride, so I kept him on a running line when my eyeballs weren't fixed on him. He didn't give a crap about other dogs, but would not walk away from a fight. His obedience was stellar, as long as I held the leash, and he could track anything. But what he really loved to do was patrol fence lines. He would relentlessly check his borders and allowed no intruders to enter. And Sabi was his life. He would bring her food, and toys, wash her face, show off for her and wait, because she was always slower.
He was a disaster in the house. He marked on everything, drooled everywhere and shredded toys, blankets, pillows and mattresses. He flung water dishes, knocked over plants and tables and counter surfed. So he was crated. I wanted him with me at night, but to him that meant he should sit beside me and stare at me all night. Creepy.
For all his issues he was my boy. And now I have added yet another box to my collection. The house is becoming a morbid shrine of old collars and cedar boxes with shiny nameplates.
My only comfort in this is that he is now with his beloved Sabi.
Be good Bud. Momma loves you.