It may surprise you to know that I haven't always been the Alpha in our house. There was a time when the family only had three members: one male and one female human, and a female dog. This dog was the Alpha. Her name was Henley on the Thames, and she was a stunning Newfoundland. And she was our first baby. And aren't the first babies supposed to be treated like princesses? I did not dress her up, unless you count the bows the groomer put on her ears. The bows, by the way, had a very Baby Huey effect for the bows were tiny and the dog was large. 120 pounds large. (FYI, I meant the giant, cartoon duckling in a diaper, not the singer from the early 70's whose music had an influence on the development of Hip Hop.)
Henley displayed her Alpha status without regret. When she was a puppy, only 90 pounds or so at the time, I was walking her down the snowy streets of Madison, Wisconsin. It was late and dark, the flakes were coming down thick and slow. Hen and I were the only ones outside for blocks. It was cold and I was hurrying home when, about 18 feet behind me, I heard a sharp snap. I tugged on the 20 foot leash and felt the tension ease. But then there was this scratching noise coming closer. When I turned my eyes into the blurring snow, Henley was trotting up to me with a tree in her mouth. Not a large branch, but a 7-8 foot tall and 2-3 inch in diameter tree. She had snapped it off close to the ground and was carrying her prize home. She knew she was naughty and she was proud of it. She had no intention of letting go of it either. I am ashamed to say I did not go up to the house and let the homeowners know. We took a right and instead of leaving tracks that lead to our front door, we walked on towards Vilas Zoo. There, in the public space, I tied her to a much larger tree and wrestled the tree from her jaws (a great puppy game). I hid the prize in the woods and walked the dog home, with the leash pulled in much closer this time. In the morning, I walked her back and forth in front of the victim's house a couple of times to confuse the footprints, even though the snow had already obscured the evidence.
She mellowed as she aged. If you are in the demon-throws of adolescent puppyhood, people will tell you that the dog will settle when it grows up. You will not believe them. Or maybe you will cling to the hope that one day your sleeves will not be riddled with teeth holes. It is the little things that pull us through, no? Either way, they do settle. And so did Henley. She settled right in to her Alpha seat. There was no doubt in her mind that she was entitled to being served by us. She didn't bark to go outside. She simply walked over and stared at you, boring her message into your mind, until you opened the door. We even got Hen her own dog, Tanner, to chew on. That was the power of the Alpha.
Big dogs bring big love and big vet bills. And many years and three major knee surgeries later, we had to put her down. By then there were two more humans in the family. And Henley taught them to grieve. They were 3 1/2 and 2 at the time. Miss M would paint pictures and write stories about Hen at preschool. Big C would carry the granite box of ashes with us whenever we went in the car. Tanner, who was clearly grieving as well, was tended to and cuddled and fed as many treats as her belly could hold. It was beautiful.
I have been thinking of this time a lot lately because our dear, dear friends lost their dog, Bear, recently. Bear was their first baby too. And the reason I stopped my car and jumped out to pet/meet them when they moved in to the neighborhood. (I honestly do not normally accost people walking down the street!) Miss M and Big C are older now. Bear was beloved by them. Their grieving as grown up a bit as well. Big C collected a hair sample, which he is using as part of his research. He is building a "duplicator" out of a cardboard box in his room. The plan is to clone Bear and give the new puppy back to the neighbors. It is beautiful.
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