RIP: Bobby

Bobby, my next-door neighbour's doberman, died this week. My eyes immediately welled up with tears at the news. Even though I know that large dogs have shorter lifespans, it seems like only yesterday when he was a little puppy. By the time he was six months old, he was double Rocky's size. Fully grown in less than a year, his paw was bigger than Rocky's head. I remember how fun it was waking up in the morning and marvelling how he'd grown from the night before! ;)

The neighbours' grandchildren have been coming over to play with Rocky recently, who -- dressed in babies' clothing -- now looks like a little puppy, especially when compared to big ol' Bobby.

Despite his hugeness and the deepness of his bark -- which scared everyone who came to my house -- Bobby remains one of the most good-natured dogs I've ever had the fortune to meet. Sure, he has a ferocious bark, but you know what they say about barking dogs. He was a guard dog; that was his job.

(I've often wondered if people who complain about dogs barking know what they're saying; that's like complaining about people talking. Dogs don't (always) bark for the sake of trying to scare or annoy people; they bark when they're hungry, they bark when they're angry, they bark when they're happy. They say that up to 93% of all human communication is non-verbal, more so with our canine counterparts, who haven't the ability to communicate words to us -- there's much to learn when it comes to interpreting their body language, their tone, and even the rumbling of their tummy. The dynamics of relationships don't stop at human ones.)

The bottom of our main gate is meshed up because Rocky is small enough to squeeze through the grids, but Bobby's house has no such feature. On Rocky's walks, we would sometimes unleash him as we approached our house -- it's a lot more fun for him. Now and then, he would annoy Bobby (or at least, I know I would be annoyed) by burrowing past their gate and into enemy the neighbour's territory. The first time he did that I went nuts. I mean, seriously -- Bobby was five times his size; I just watched helplessly as I expected my dog to get torn apart by the big bad dobe. I was later told that all colour had drained from my face; I was too frightened even to scream.

Then Rocky lifted his hind leg up and peed on Bobby's paws, while Bobby docilely sniffed Rocky's butt and licked his face. And everything was good -- the beginning of a strange friendship.

Rocky hasn't been out for walks since his operation (infection risks); I wonder if he will notice that Bobby is gone now. For a dog his size, Bobby has lived a long, good life. I've stayed here the past 11 years -- I reckon that's Bobby's age. I've noticed, in the past few months, that he, too, had struggled with walking, and balancing on all four legs. I guess it was always time.

Goodnight, Bobby. We'll miss you, too.

[Edit: Excuse me, Bobby's a rottweiler. Huh, 10 years of thinking that that's what a doberman looked like. Good thing I don't have to explain Rocky's breed. Which makes me think of the rogue rottweilers in my neighbourhood. A $200 fine is not a deterrent, okay? Poor Buddy.]