06E091

I inherited a Rottweiler from my brother. Nice fellow, although quite huge. (The Rottweiler, not my brother, although come to think of it, my brother has put on a few pounds in the last couple of years.) Luckily it wasn’t because my brother was dead. Rather, his wife had decided that he was just too large and ungainly to fit into their 12,087 square foot abode.

I suspect they missed each other terribly. (My brother and his Rottweiler; the wife has managed to put things right, apparently.) The first few days, the poor fellow just lay about on the floor, sighing to himself and licking the wall fairly frequently for reasons I’ve yet to determine. (The Rottweiler, again, not my brother.)

After the first several weeks, he seemed a bit more frisky. So far as I know, my brother wasn’t nearly so frisky at that point, but I don’t suppose that’s something I really want to dwell upon too long. At the start we weren’t quite sure if Max (the Rottweiler) was happy to see us upon our arrival home or if he was considering lunging directly for our throats in a desperate attempt to escape the torturous life into which he’d been thrust. Had he had a tail instead of a stub, I should think it would have been a bit easier to tell what mood he was in. Since he also had quite a deep grumble, you couldn’t really tell if he was growling in the vicious manner of a 115-pound predator or simply saying, “Hello, and how was your day?”.

I imagine it was fairly difficult, being forced to co-habit with not one, but two small canines, in addition to several humans with whom he had previously been only mildly acquainted -- those you tip your hat at when passing by at the market. If dogs had hats to tip and went grocery shopping.

I’m afraid our female 16-pound Terrier, a master at intimidation techniques, was the most difficult of the bunch for Max to adjust to. He did get awfully good at cramming his nearly human sized body into a corner the size of a breadbox in multiple frenzied efforts at staying out of her way. I thought it best not to point out to him that he outweighed the Terrier by several times her entire bodyweight out of fear that I might arrive home one afternoon and be short by one furball that’s rather adept at getting under your feet whenever you least expect it.

After a few more months, we humans grew more proficient at judging the mood our new family member was in, mostly due to finally figuring out that if you looked closely, you could see his stub wagging furiously, and Max grew more adept at judging the mood of the beastly Terrier, as well as somewhat accustomed to the plethora of rawhides, toys, and doggie junk food available, so everything worked out all right in the end.