Let me tell you about my first dog, Sasha.
Sasha was a German Shepherd, I got her for my 15th birthday, I had always wanted a german shepherd, and although up to this point we had had family dogs, I had not had one of my own. I didn’t know I was getting her until she came barreling out of some strange house & knocked me over, (she was about 4-5 months when we got her & all paws) then attempting to lick as much of me as possible.
I was in love… I still miss her terribly. After investigating me for several more minutes, she decided she was hungry & went loping around the yard hunting. She pulled up a worm… she ate it quite happily, I was glad this was after she molested me. Yes I am fully aware she was likely cleaning her own ass prior to licking me, but I didn’t see that and so could pretend it didn’t happen.
She developed a taste for my jeans, it didn’t help that I was quite the little snob at the time & only had jeans that cost over $40, but more likely to be over $60. She was incredibly smart, which meant a lot of her training was sort of accidental, by which I mean, she picked up on what I wanted even when I wasn’t really trying to train her; she could just read me.
She also had a few… quirks.
She was afraid of her own flatulence, yes I mean her farts, no; I am not joking. She had rather human sounding farts, which was funny enough on it’s own I have to tell you, but allow me to paint a picture of the experience.
Picture with me, if you will; a sweet sleeping fluffy german shepherd. Maybe she’s grumbling a little in her sleep, when from under her tail comes a blast worthy of any tuba. She lifts her head with a start. Wide-eyed in terror, she turns to stare at her ass as if it is an entirely different entity, which she proceeds to run from as fast as possible. She never did get away.
Hey, did I mention her gas was almost lethal? She’d even run from her SBDs; if she looked up scared & ran away, we knew to run like hell too.
She also suffered from “stress-induced” explosive diarrhea, which is common in GSDs. Whenever we went out as a family, it was sort of like russian roulette, but with shit not bullets. If left alone for a long time Sasha got, lonely… really lonely… shit-stormingly lonely. Have you seen the episode of South Park where Mr Hankey calls upon oodles and oodles of shit to drive out the film festival people? Think that, but just in one house… Everywhere, it was… everywhere, even up the walls… THE WALLS!! I can’t even grasp how she managed that.
She hated when I went swimming, went ballistic when I dove… She’d jump in to save me, mostly ending up batting my face instead. We decided to lock her in the house, but she knew I was in the pool and just went nuts in the house, trying to bust the door down, so that failed epically. I ended up having to get someone to sit on the edge of the pool, and hold her long enough for me to dive & get back to the shallow end where I could escape my “hero”. She was fine with anyone else going in the pool or diving, so I felt special.
She also hated the ceiling fan, if I tried to touch it she’d set off this high pitched psychotic bark, and go bouncing around like an idiot under it and trying to chase me away from it. She was also like this with a spot on the wall, one specific spot, I have no clue why, there was absolutely nothing there.
She once bit a hole through my car’s fender, attempting to get to a chipmunk hiding out under the hood.
Whenever she heard a siren go by, she would launch herself onto the one of the two recliners we had in front of our living room window, if anyone was in it and sitting up, they were soon laying flat with a large dog standing alertly over them barking at said window. That person was usually me.
She was quite certain that she was a lap dog. She would try to sneak up onto my lap when I was sitting in one of the aforementioned recliners. First would be a paw. Then the whole leg… then maybe another paw. Then whoomp, 80 lbs of German Shepherd.
I don’t think I could miss a creature more than I miss her.