She was the best of dogs, she was the worst of dogs. We found her on Petfinder after losing our 12 year old chocolate lab to cancer and seeing how lonely and stressed our remaining dog was. The Omega of dogs, our Logan needed a strong bitch to rule his life. And that’s how Daisy came into the picture.
Touted as a lab mix (aren’t they all?) at the shelter, she had some Pit Bull in her for sure, but she was so large and tall and thin, there were clearly other genetics at work. Later a DNA test reported American Staffordshire Terrier (Pit Bull to you), Great Dane (and she really did resemble Scooby Doo at certain angles), Golden Retriever (her sweetness and coloring) and Husky (her “eyeliner” and reactiveness (putting it nicely) to other dogs outside of her pack. The vet called her a Great Dane Mix, and we stuck to that.
She was the best of dogs in her constant kisses, her reliable submissiveness to all humans, her broken ear (who could resist that one up, one down look?), her winning smile, and her love of Sun Chips, pizza crusts and dog toys. Her “riding the bone” as we dubbed it – throwing a bone in the air and pouncing on it to ride it across the floor, was legendary, if a little hard on our polished oak.
The worst of dogs? Well if she encountered a dog, any dog, no matter how sweet or how much it was minding its own business, her hackles would raise, and she would let out the most blood-curdling growl, and lunge. She was very strong, even when she was ailing. If I had to run the gauntlet past another dog, we had to do what I called the 2-legged walk of shame. It was the only way. I had to raise her on her hind legs, hug her around the chest (she was taller than I was in that position) and we had to ignominiously side-step past. We planned our walking routes to lessen the possibility of meeting another dog. Daisy and I always walked away from the gorgeous view, and got to the park only during fierce storms. My rain suit and Wellies came in handy.
The vet didn’t believe her bad rep, because Daisy seemed so sweet. Until the time I had to walk her back to the car through a roomful of “patients” and well, it wasn’t pretty. The techs learned thereafter to do reconnaissance of the waiting room before we left and let us know when the coast was clear, and we could high-tail it, so to speak, to the parking lot.
There was never any issue with Daisy and the other dogs in our pack (up to three at one time or another). They all worked it out pretty quickly and would even share a plate of scrambled eggs politely. She was motherly to our youngest (and biggest) dog, a Newfoundland, licking his drool and alerting us to an ear infection through continuously licking his affected ear.
Being a prick-eared dog, (the broken ear stood up when she was on high alert) she exhibited wolf-like behavior, chasing rabbits and squirrels with that unmistakably predatory smile. Still I like to think, when we lived in a more rural place, that the cat “skin” I found on the lawn one day was the result of a coyote attack, and had nothing to do with Daisy. I’m sticking with that thought too.
Daisy went over the Rainbow Bridge, as they say, this past Saturday. She was 14 years old. She might have been our most difficult dog but all that was forgotten in the moment. We petted her and murmured what a good girl she was as the sedative started to take effect. Of course she wasn’t, but maybe that made us love her more. #TheBestDog #TheWorstDog #TheRainbowBridge #WritingCommunity #LosingAPet