Someone Remembers You

My friend Sandy and I were exchanging emails today and I happened to send her this photo I pulled off of Facebook. I remarked in a subsequent email how White German Shepherds used to be killed because they were thought to be inferior. (For this culling of white shepherds, we have the Nazis to thank. For an interesting article on the history of the German Shepherd, and the Nazi’s eugenics of the breed, click here.)

Sandy, feeling as I do, that destroying an animal because it doesn’t “conform” to some arbitrary norm set by some self-anointed fanatic, was reminded of a dog she had known when she was younger. I asked her if I could share her memory of him.

How bloody wasteful and cruel [to destroy white Shepherds].  Think of all the potential happy companions who were thoughtlessly killed when there were hundreds and hundreds of children just wishing for faithful dogs to love. That makes me very sad. 

I don’t know if you remember me telling you about my first GS buddy — He was a huge white shepherd named ‘Satan’ who lived down the block from us in the Seattle naval housing project where we resided.  He was kept on a very short chain in the front yard (unfenced) and always barked and growled at everyone when they passed.  To me, his eyes didn’t look mean at all; they were big and round and lonely.  So I would talk to him every time I passed, tell him hello, getting closer with every visit until I finally held out my hand to him.  He approached, warily sniffing at me, then he suddenly wagged his tail, licked my hand and from that day forth we became fast friends.  His owners were surprised he never bit me; they told me he was a biter, and to be careful, but I never saw him snarl once at me, ever. He couldn’t wait for me to come by every day, always happily and excitedly barking a greeting upon my approach; he’d strain and pull at his chain so much, I feared he might hurt himself.  He was starved for affection.  I’d occasionally sneak a table scrap or two to him, sit beside him and love on him, bury my face in his furry white shoulder.  I’d chat with him, always telling him how much I wished I could take him away from his prison and let him run free, and he always listened attentively for a while, until he fell a asleep with his head on my lap.  When we moved to Adak, Alaska, it was hard to say good bye.  I wonder how long he waited and looked for me before that he realized I wasn’t ever coming back to visit and sit with him again.  Makes me cry just to remember this…

I wish I could have bought him from his unfeeling, neglectful, undeserving owners, but, of course, in the Navy, families were discouraged from owning pets of any kind.  In the late 50s/early 60s, the military didn’t allow enlisted men to transport animals to overseas locations, and since we were relocating to Alaska, we couldn’t possibly take a dog along.   Anyway, my parents would never have allowed me to own a German Shepherd…’too big’, they’d say, too big for the constraints of military housing…but for my parents, GSDs were always ‘too big for me to own’.  My dad had GS dogs when he was a kid — I’ve seen the photos — but even he didn’t think it was a good idea for me to have one.  Maybe it was because I was a girl.  Sigh. 

I often think about Satan and wonder what became of him.  Of course, I know he’s long ago traveled beyond the Rainbow Bridge, but I’d like to think that before his passing, maybe – just maybe – he finally made good his escape into the Wild and finally somewhere found a friend worthy of his love and trust — a forever friend with whom he could run free to the end of his days. Or perhaps some loving family took him in and gave him the love he so richly deserved.  I hope so.  Bless his beautiful white soul.