Since I've already introduced Rylee in a previous post, I may as well share a little more information on the "family". We are on our fourth Bully, but I will use this column to tell you about the first three...
I need to give a little background information about the situation that my wife and I grew-up in and how that shaped our view of the animal world. We are both German born children of American GI dads and German moms. Being of Central-European families, our moms were...how shall we say it?
Well, they were neat-freaks. Dogs were dirty, smelly beasts. Definitely not fit for a properly cared for home. Needless to say, neither of us had any pets growing up. Nope, not so much as a Goldfish. So...now we're adults (chronologically at least) and out on our own. The problem? We were renters. Translate: no dogs. So we compensated. Four Hamsters. Two Tarantulas. A Turtle. A Rat (Edgar was the best!). A Rabbit. We were the neighborhood petting zoo. The kids on the street loved us. What all of these furry, scaly, crawly creatures taught us was pet responsibility. Food, water, medicine, clean bedding, exercise, the whole shootin' match. Then...WE BOUGHT A HOUSE. Nothing can stop us now.
I will take a moment to admit that we are probably exceptions here, but we did two YEARS of research on dog breeds to find out what we wanted. We talked to breeders. We went to dog shows. We read books. We made check-lists. Then we went to the Crown Classic dog show at the IX-Center in Cleveland and found ourselves surrounded by 30-plus Bullmastiffs and that was it. Done deal. That is also where we met the woman who we would get our first two dogs from. That leads me to Rylee.
Our breeder had kept Rylee from a recent litter with the intention of showing her. Unfortunately, Rylee grew too fast and too tall and she didn't fit the Standard. Bad for the breeder, good for us. We got Rylee when she was 7 months old. All 25 inches tall and 95 pounds of her. She was beautiful. Fawn coat; big blocky head; thick, gummy lips. What a honey. As I noted in the previous post, she was special. Absolutely gentle. Rylee matured into a 130 pound plush toy. Man, she had a beautiful head. Old Boxcar head. Lots of Mastiff in that girl. Rylee loved everybody and as far as I could tell, everybody loved her. The only negative with Ryl's was her Vet bill portfolio. She was the "what can go wrong with a Bully" poster child. ACL tear? Check. Bladder infections? Check. Skin issues? Got it. She was quite popular at our local Animal Hospital. You know what? We didn't care. She was worth every penny and more. Every dog has a personality quirk. Rylee's was house plants. She loved house plants. Never met one she couldn't destroy. We had a six-foot tall fern in the living room in a 5 gallon pot. Had. She destroyed the pot. She shredded the fern. She spread 5 gallons of potting soil on the living room carpet. When I walked in the front door, she was PROUD! Look what I did, Dad. The vacuum cleaner never did work well after that...
Eighteen months after getting Rylee, we got her niece. If you need any proof that being a blood relation has no bearing on personality types, all you needed to do was meet Mags. Magee (pronounced: Maggie) was the anti-Rylee. She was ALPHA. Big-time. She was stubborn. She was a malcontent. She was obstinate. We loved her. She was Ying to Rylee's Yang. Frick and Frack. Magpie was a red-fawn, short, wide and full of Bulldog. Except her head. She had a little head. Or maybe it was that wide body. Did I mention she had a prey-drive? The neighborhood cats would point at Rylee and giggle. Those cats looked at Mags and shook. We never had cat poop in the flower beds while Magee was around. It didn't take long for the word to spread that Mags was not to be messed with. The yard was hers. Cats, squirrels, birds, didn't matter. They were intruders and she would not be intruded upon. Oh, that little wide dog was fast. Spooky fast. Remember Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins? Short legs, thick chest, ran like the wind. That was Mags. My favorite Magee story? I was digging old bushes out of the front landscaping. I had clipped Magpie to the wrought iron railing concreted into the front steps by a 20 foot cable. She laid on the stoop watching me work. Our old neighbor Carl was walking his Lasa and stopped to chat. The little Lasa yapped and barked at Mags until she just couldn't stand it. She shot off of the steps and when she got to the end of the cable? She yanked the whole wrought iron railing out of the concrete! That little Lasa lost a year off her life, easy. If a dogs face can make the "oh crap" look, Zoe made that look. Classic.
Unfortunately, we lost Mags way too early. She came up lame one day and we took her to the Vet. One word you never want to hear: Osteosarcoma
Mags had cancer. We always thought she was too tough to get sick. So much for that idea. We only had Magee for seven years, but they were really good years. Miss you Mudpie...
We had made the decision shortly after getting Magee that we would always be a two-dog household. The idea was that when we lost Rylee, Mags would be 8 or 9 and we would bring in a pupil for her to train. Things didn't work out as planned. We lost Mags too soon but good-old Rylee stuck around for almost twelve years. Go figure. So...what to do? We spoke to our breeder, we looked on the net, then we started thinking about rescue. All of the obvious questions came up. Would we find the "right" dog? Would we get one with "issues". After a call from one of our contacts in the Ohio Bully community we took a drive to meet a two year old girl named Cocoa. What a cutey. Dark brindle, long and tall like Rylee. A little reserved maybe, but so sweet. We said yes. The first few days were typically transitional. Rylee had the "who the heck is this" look. Cocoa had the "where the heck am I" look. Pretty soon though we all settled into a nice little order. Neither Rylee or Cocoa were possessive or territorial, so we didn't have to deal with any "alpha" issues. Shortly after the adoption my wife took Cocoa to Pennsylvania for the Bullmastiff Specialty. She got her little rescue medal and got to parade around the show ring. Turns out, she's a bit of a ham. Even though she was our third Bully, and we had been "Bully People" for almost ten years by then, Cocoa gave us a first. Ever heard of hunkering? Neither had we. If you have not witnessed this phenomenon, it is something to see. Cocoa would haul-ass around the yard with her fanny tucked low to the ground. Full blast around in big circles, then suddenly she would throw herself at the ground! Thud. Roll, roll...bite the grass, kick, roll, bite the grass. Holy Crap! What was THAT all about. We had never seen anything remotely like that. Great, our dog is demented. That performance would be repeated many times over the next few years, it never failed to bring a grin.
Then...she came up lame.
Oh man. Maybe she tweaked her knee. lets not overreact. We gave it a day to see if she would shake it off. The next day she was still limping. Off the see Dr. Mark. Hmmm. not sure about this x-ray. Time to get another opinion. Off to North Ridgeville to see the Specialist. Oh no, not again. Osteo...come on...this isn't fair.
We consulted with our local Vet. We consulted with the Specialist. We searched the net and spoke with friends and family. In the end, we decided to let her be. We could have taken the leg and done Chemo. The quality of life question was our primary concern. How would she fair as an amputee? We decided, not well. So Cocoa is going to live out whatever natural life she has and it is our responsibility to make that time as pain free and comfortable as possible. Thank you's to everyone who has expressed your concern and condolences. Cocoa just had a check-up. The cancer has spread a little. Slower than expected, but still spreading. Her chest is clear. She plays (hard) with the new pup. She pulls like a freight train and best of all, eats like a Viking. How much time do we have with her? We don't know, but she will be loved, and we will be loved back. Best deal we'll ever make...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Volunteerism...or...what can I do?
I'm going to gaze into my Crystal Ball and anticipate your question....
Hmmmmmmm...
"what can I do?...what can I do?"
That's the question, right? You've got this great dog, and you'd like to do something meaningful. But what? How do you share this wonderful companion? Where do you go? Who do you talk to?
May I offer an off-the-wall answer?
Ask your dog, they'll know.
Well, I don't mean ask like the dog-whisperer. But your dog can help you answer the question. We had a similar situation with our first Bullmastiff, Rylee. Rylee was a special girl. Of course she would have been special to us even if she would have been just a big, happy pet. And she was all of that, but she proved to be much more. I would like to share a story I wrote many years ago about how Rylee helped us figure out the answer to our dilemma. We are fortunate to have a wonderful residence facility for children and adults with Developmental Disabilities. My wife happened upon a story in the local paper about this facility and how they were considering a therapy animal program, but didn't have a resource to turn to. Almost on a whim we called the Center. I wrote the following article for their News Letter as a result of our visit:
(I have taken the liberty of omitting certain names)
"The Decision to Contribute"
We would like to start off by saying that the decision to find an outlet for sharing Rylee with others wasn't really ours. It didn't take days of brainstorming to come to the conclusion that we needed to get Rylee out into the world. As much as we would like to get that kind of credit, someone else came to that conclusion for us. In this case, that someone was Rylee. Yes, we know that Rylee is a dog. Referring to her as a "someone" makes more sense once you've met her. Thinking of her as a person becomes very easy once you've experienced her "person"-ality. If there is an animal anywhere with more of it than Rylee, that animals owner needs to contact the Center as soon as possible!
Rylee came into our lives on January 16th, 1995. She was eight months old, and weighed in at a healthy 95 pounds. Big, goofy and incredibly lovable were the most accurate words to describe her. Despite her size she always seemed to know how big she was, but more importantly, how small other things were in relation to her. One thing we don't want you to do, is think that as Rylee's owners we were looking for something special from her. Neither of us had had any real experience with dogs as children, and all she was going to be to us was our DOG. It just became too obvious for even us to miss, that Rylee was somehow special.
Like most people, we had heard of Guide Dogs and other types of assistance dogs. The idea that jumped out at us was that of joining a visiting therapy group. The problem was, who did we contact? What is required of both dog and owner? Our dilemma was solved when my wife read an advertisement for a start-up program at the Center. This was something we hoped would be the perfect marriage, an ideal dog and an existing group of people she could help. Thanks to the outstanding staff at the Center, we were not disappointed. If we had any doubts about whether we were doing the right thing, those bouts were wiped away the first time Rylee paid a visit. She was given the official tour of the office and proceeded to show everyone there that she was the dog for the job. The icing on the cake came when we had a chance to put our grand idea to the test. We were told that one of the residents was in the office and they asked if it would be OK to make an introduction. The residents name is Jack, and he is the unofficial "postman" for the Center. Jack was asked if he liked dogs, to which he answered yes. That's when Rylee met her first client, and as it turned out, her next friend. Judging by the number of moist hankies that this introduction produced, we knew that this was it. No more trying to figure out how to get Rylee out to the world, she was home.
We never planned on being a test-case or to be pioneers. It just so happened that the right situation and the right dog met at the right time. And as much as we think of Rylee as being the perfect dog for this type of program, we know that there is room for more. Hopefully, other owners with the perfect dog will allow their pet to make the same decision that ours made for us.
How can we be sure that Rylee made the right call?
Faces.
Hers and those of the people she makes friends with on each visit to the Center.
Rylee made twice-weekly visits to the Center. Each visit provided opportunities for Rylee to work her magic. It was incredible. Faces twisted by years of pain or isolation suddenly smiled. Idle hands reached out to her. Fingers fiddled with her hair and ears. Clumsy hands groped her head and legs. She loved it. Sometimes it was hard to watch, but I'm so glad we did it.
Rylee's been gone for three years now, but those evenings at the Center will always be part of her legacy. Do you have a Rylee? My guess is you probably do.
"What can I do?...what can I do?"
Look around. Make a few calls. Better yet, ask your dog.
Hmmmmmmm...
"what can I do?...what can I do?"
That's the question, right? You've got this great dog, and you'd like to do something meaningful. But what? How do you share this wonderful companion? Where do you go? Who do you talk to?
May I offer an off-the-wall answer?
Ask your dog, they'll know.
Well, I don't mean ask like the dog-whisperer. But your dog can help you answer the question. We had a similar situation with our first Bullmastiff, Rylee. Rylee was a special girl. Of course she would have been special to us even if she would have been just a big, happy pet. And she was all of that, but she proved to be much more. I would like to share a story I wrote many years ago about how Rylee helped us figure out the answer to our dilemma. We are fortunate to have a wonderful residence facility for children and adults with Developmental Disabilities. My wife happened upon a story in the local paper about this facility and how they were considering a therapy animal program, but didn't have a resource to turn to. Almost on a whim we called the Center. I wrote the following article for their News Letter as a result of our visit:
(I have taken the liberty of omitting certain names)
"The Decision to Contribute"
We would like to start off by saying that the decision to find an outlet for sharing Rylee with others wasn't really ours. It didn't take days of brainstorming to come to the conclusion that we needed to get Rylee out into the world. As much as we would like to get that kind of credit, someone else came to that conclusion for us. In this case, that someone was Rylee. Yes, we know that Rylee is a dog. Referring to her as a "someone" makes more sense once you've met her. Thinking of her as a person becomes very easy once you've experienced her "person"-ality. If there is an animal anywhere with more of it than Rylee, that animals owner needs to contact the Center as soon as possible!
Rylee came into our lives on January 16th, 1995. She was eight months old, and weighed in at a healthy 95 pounds. Big, goofy and incredibly lovable were the most accurate words to describe her. Despite her size she always seemed to know how big she was, but more importantly, how small other things were in relation to her. One thing we don't want you to do, is think that as Rylee's owners we were looking for something special from her. Neither of us had had any real experience with dogs as children, and all she was going to be to us was our DOG. It just became too obvious for even us to miss, that Rylee was somehow special.
Like most people, we had heard of Guide Dogs and other types of assistance dogs. The idea that jumped out at us was that of joining a visiting therapy group. The problem was, who did we contact? What is required of both dog and owner? Our dilemma was solved when my wife read an advertisement for a start-up program at the Center. This was something we hoped would be the perfect marriage, an ideal dog and an existing group of people she could help. Thanks to the outstanding staff at the Center, we were not disappointed. If we had any doubts about whether we were doing the right thing, those bouts were wiped away the first time Rylee paid a visit. She was given the official tour of the office and proceeded to show everyone there that she was the dog for the job. The icing on the cake came when we had a chance to put our grand idea to the test. We were told that one of the residents was in the office and they asked if it would be OK to make an introduction. The residents name is Jack, and he is the unofficial "postman" for the Center. Jack was asked if he liked dogs, to which he answered yes. That's when Rylee met her first client, and as it turned out, her next friend. Judging by the number of moist hankies that this introduction produced, we knew that this was it. No more trying to figure out how to get Rylee out to the world, she was home.
We never planned on being a test-case or to be pioneers. It just so happened that the right situation and the right dog met at the right time. And as much as we think of Rylee as being the perfect dog for this type of program, we know that there is room for more. Hopefully, other owners with the perfect dog will allow their pet to make the same decision that ours made for us.
How can we be sure that Rylee made the right call?
Faces.
Hers and those of the people she makes friends with on each visit to the Center.
Rylee made twice-weekly visits to the Center. Each visit provided opportunities for Rylee to work her magic. It was incredible. Faces twisted by years of pain or isolation suddenly smiled. Idle hands reached out to her. Fingers fiddled with her hair and ears. Clumsy hands groped her head and legs. She loved it. Sometimes it was hard to watch, but I'm so glad we did it.
Rylee's been gone for three years now, but those evenings at the Center will always be part of her legacy. Do you have a Rylee? My guess is you probably do.
"What can I do?...what can I do?"
Look around. Make a few calls. Better yet, ask your dog.
Monday, December 22, 2008
What a Bullmastiff isn't...the little penis file
Big, strong, powerful and visually intimidating...the Bullmastiff. What an incredible specimen. Fearless, loyal and proud. Man, I'm gunna git me one of them dogs!
If you're looking for a 100+ pound, aggressive, mean-spirited penis extension, please stop reading.
This is not the 4-legged Viagra you are looking for...Wait a second. I take that back. DON"T stop reading. As a matter of fact, I want you to stay. Seriously, pull up a chair. I NEED you to read this. If you absolutely have to have "that" kind of dog, please do not consider this breed. You will only be disappointed. Disappointed dog owners create abandoned dogs. Let me explain why this is not your dog...
(Experienced Bully owners can take a mental nap here, this will be old news for you, but please stick around...)
The Bullmastiff looks the way it does because someone wanted a dog that could do a certain kind of work. You see, the Bully is a manufactured breed. Roughly 60% Mastiff and 40% Bulldog, it was created to do a job. The Mastiff provided strength and size, the Bulldog provided tenacity. By the way, the Bulldog in question is not the Winston Churchill bulldog we know today. It was instead a dog of medium size with speed and agility.
This cross-bred dog, the Bullmastiff, was created as a defense against poachers on large estates. Gentleman land owners in 19th Century England didn't like losing prize deer to poachers on their land. The Bully worked with the Gamekeeper to patrol silently, at night, to stalk and apprehend poachers. You see, Bullys don't bite. The idea was to knock the poacher down and HOLD him until the gamekeeper could catch-up...
The Bully did his work well. It wasn't until later that we saw how well the Bullmastiff worked with us that we developed the companion relationship we have with the breed today. You see, the breed wasn't developed to fight. There is a reason why none of the dogs rescued from Michael Vick's farm were Bullmastiffs. Quite simply, they're lovers, not fighters. Despite being a world-class moron, even Vick knew this wasn't "that" dog.
Big, wet, sloppy kisses. Those are the Bullmastiff's stock-in-trade. Warm hearts and cold noses. You want a fighter? Keep lookin' pal. This aint yer dog.
If you're looking for a 100+ pound, aggressive, mean-spirited penis extension, please stop reading.
This is not the 4-legged Viagra you are looking for...Wait a second. I take that back. DON"T stop reading. As a matter of fact, I want you to stay. Seriously, pull up a chair. I NEED you to read this. If you absolutely have to have "that" kind of dog, please do not consider this breed. You will only be disappointed. Disappointed dog owners create abandoned dogs. Let me explain why this is not your dog...
(Experienced Bully owners can take a mental nap here, this will be old news for you, but please stick around...)
The Bullmastiff looks the way it does because someone wanted a dog that could do a certain kind of work. You see, the Bully is a manufactured breed. Roughly 60% Mastiff and 40% Bulldog, it was created to do a job. The Mastiff provided strength and size, the Bulldog provided tenacity. By the way, the Bulldog in question is not the Winston Churchill bulldog we know today. It was instead a dog of medium size with speed and agility.
This cross-bred dog, the Bullmastiff, was created as a defense against poachers on large estates. Gentleman land owners in 19th Century England didn't like losing prize deer to poachers on their land. The Bully worked with the Gamekeeper to patrol silently, at night, to stalk and apprehend poachers. You see, Bullys don't bite. The idea was to knock the poacher down and HOLD him until the gamekeeper could catch-up...
The Bully did his work well. It wasn't until later that we saw how well the Bullmastiff worked with us that we developed the companion relationship we have with the breed today. You see, the breed wasn't developed to fight. There is a reason why none of the dogs rescued from Michael Vick's farm were Bullmastiffs. Quite simply, they're lovers, not fighters. Despite being a world-class moron, even Vick knew this wasn't "that" dog.
Big, wet, sloppy kisses. Those are the Bullmastiff's stock-in-trade. Warm hearts and cold noses. You want a fighter? Keep lookin' pal. This aint yer dog.
Welcome to the Nightdogblog...
Confused? Basically, this will be about and for the Bullmastiff dog breed.
This is a first for me...so this will morph as I go...
Hopefully, I'll hit something you'll find interesting. Whether it's about my Bullys, the breed in general, what it's not or some other related (or not) topic.
If you know and love the breed, feel free to contact me. If you have something to contribute, even better.
I've been involved with the breed for almost 15 years, so I have quite a few things to say. Will you want to listen? No clue. Will I continue to post? Absolutely. Sorry my intro wasn't longer, but I have a "first column" that I want to get right, so bear with me...
Regards,
Gregg
Confused? Basically, this will be about and for the Bullmastiff dog breed.
This is a first for me...so this will morph as I go...
Hopefully, I'll hit something you'll find interesting. Whether it's about my Bullys, the breed in general, what it's not or some other related (or not) topic.
If you know and love the breed, feel free to contact me. If you have something to contribute, even better.
I've been involved with the breed for almost 15 years, so I have quite a few things to say. Will you want to listen? No clue. Will I continue to post? Absolutely. Sorry my intro wasn't longer, but I have a "first column" that I want to get right, so bear with me...
Regards,
Gregg
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