Saying Goodbye

Pyrenean Mountain Puppy photo by Lazarus000

Ah, he doesn’t look so fierce, does he?

Saying Goodbye

A new couple moved into the neighborhood last year–with a Great Pyrenees–the woman arrived first–she and said dog. Said her significant other was coming along in a few weeks from California—like maybe they were the scouting party. She was walking that massive white dog very slowly, and I avoided them much as I could, knowing well Layla’s disposition and not knowing Big Dog’s. Second day we saw them, she said he suffered from bad knees exacerbated by his size, age and our steep Barcroft hills; and that he was a senior citizen at eight or nine.

Great Pyrenees are hard to miss. Great is the giveaway. The dog in question is easily the woman’s weight. Dunno if there’s a regular Pyrenees and I doubt anyone has ever bred a miniature. On size alone, this boy could gnosh on me and polish off Layla for desert. Except his demeanor shows no such intent.

“Frequently described as “majestic,” Great Pyrenees are big, immensely strong mountain dogs standing as high as 32 inches at the shoulder and often tipping the scales at more than 100 pounds. These steadfast guardians usually exhibit a Zen-like calm, but they can quickly spring into action and move with grace and speed to meet a threat. The lush weatherproof coat is all white, or white with markings of beautiful shades of gray, tan, reddish-brown, or badger.”

from American Kennel Club’s website.

Let off leash in a dog park, Layla would sniff him a polite ‘hello’ and, patient creature, he’d probably not object. On leash is sometimes a different story.

Since Jeanine’s male companion (not that there’s anything wrong with such) finally made his way from CA, they’re now walking the big dude together. I’d been wondering, was she the only dog lover in the family, the way one makes assumptions about unfamiliar people. Hard to tell too much at the respectful distance I was staying, mostly to keep Layla from acting out and causing a ruckus.

In the thesaurus, husky is a synonym for ruckus.

The big boy’s walks these days are more a memory of when he was younger–kinda like mine and too soon Layla’s. I tell her ‘one day that will be you,’ but she pays no heed. The couple drives to different kickoff points around the lake, one of the beaches, one of the cul-de-sacs, lets him shuffle a block or so, then get him back inside the van to return home. I’ve never lifted a dog that large, and I’d say it is sad, except it isn’t because that’s love they’re showing him. After a lifetime of unquestionable loyalty and affection, they’re paying back their winter companion best they can; that’s the contract.

Great Pyrenees are another arctic breed. Snow white. I’m reminded of the breeder from whom we’d purchased Mojo and Maddie–who thought she’d raise a few litters of white huskies and retire successfully. Swear to god, she said that. No idea if it worked for her, but I remember her Mojo, the poor red husky, tongue hanging weary, whose job it was to sire as many as he could before his heart gave out.

At the time, I wondered what it would be like to be around that many huskies–living with a pack of them. A different lifestyle, to be sure, surrounded by creatures who willingly accept you as part of the pack, who look at you with those intelligent eyes then resume their separate existence.

Tonight, the Pyrenees beast was moving even slower, but it didn’t matter to Layla. Maybe dogs have no sense of age, or maybe they’re just too polite to make a big deal out of it. And it’s not like Layla intends to be a bad ass, not really; she’s just being a husky, always looking to be involved.

Senior citizens deserve respect, though it’s no use explaining that to Layla. Instead, we waited uphill from where the couple were patiently encouraging their beast into the van–not whiningly, just patiently. Jeanine and Drew have the necessary sturdy dog step, and the elder-dog handle to help his hind quarters. The complete operation took a few minutes. But as Drew said, “he’s doing pretty well. Thanks for asking.”

I was reminded of when I was taking care of Mojo in his last few months, I understood exactly what he meant. You learn to appreciate these moments.

Our neighbor’s Great Pyrenees is a noble beast–I borrowed the expression from my ex-biking buddy, Rob. Great Pyrenees don’t live so long–ten to twelve years. It took time to get him to take the first step into the van, and we waited at a proper distance so he’d not notice. Noble beasts need to be respected. These people–who I do not know well–seem to be caretakers par excellence–dog folk, you know?

Wonder what he must think, this beast whose ancestors risked their lives guarding sheep in the mountains? Does he miss defending sheep from the wolves and errant bears? Like Layla’s ancestors who had forded winter streams pulling a load and slept in snow caves when it dropped deep below zero at night?

We humans have an evolved lifestyle from those days, less hazardous, more sedentary, and we’ve brought our companions with us. Today for humans, it’s more about the interior dialog we keep–which our companions aren’t concerned with–they just look forward to something like the good old days when they meant more than being scratched behind the ears.

If I won’t hitch Layla to a dog sled this winter for a run across the Yukon, she’ll have to make do with our long walks and meeting the occasional mountain dog. If they peer close in each other’s eyes, they’ll recognize the kinship.

Long past when I should have walked up the hill and properly said hello.

Guarding the Flock    photo by Don DeBold—That’s what I’m talking about.