All the best things about Otto, his patience, his fierce loyalty to everyone around him, empathy so deep that it was best to put him outside when watching "Robin and Marian" back-to-back with "The Inn of the Sixth Happiness" lest you have a giant pile of black fur planted across your lap while you sob, were attributable to his Newfoundland ancestors.
We thought maybe we'd take the purebred plunge and add a Newfoundland to our family for Gracie to play with and fret over before any of us had to deal with Otto's inevitable passing. I spent a great deal of time with my best friend, Google, searching for Newf breeders with a line that was maybe not as drooly as the rest. This is not to imply Otto didn't drool, he just kept it limited to anything that had to do with food. Those times entirely made up for the rest of the day when his mouth was fairly dry.
One combination of search terms, Newfoundlands that don't drool, resulted in this photo:
This is Lejonlands Tzar Prince Rupert, the first Leonberger I'd ever laid eyes on. I was already smitten, and after reading a description of the breed's temperament, I was completely in love. I shipped a link to Rupert's page to Phil with the subject line, "I want one of these and I'm going to name him Hagrid."
As luck would have it, we moved to Vancouver a year later, making visiting the breeder in Nanaimo that much easier. We visited on Mother's day, 2004, put down a deposit by the end of the visit, and on July 5, 2004, our little bundle of joy was born.
Before I go further, I have to say we were entirely aware of Gracie's opinion of puppies. She didn't care for them one bit. Nope, not one bit. Why? Because she was the puppy. A role she took very seriously.
So when we came home one Saturday morning in September with Baby Hagid in our arms, Gracie trotted behind us, hoping to see Hagrid's parents who would surely take him away any minute. Any minute now they can come and take him home. Yup. Now is good.
When she realized no one would be taking Hagrid away, she leaned up against Paul, our neighbor, figuring she was Paul's dog now, because Paul would never EVER get a puppy. Plus he was a salmon fisherman, and pouting had its privileges.
And pout she did. For the next two days, Gracie wouldn't stay in the same room with us or Hagrid. If she had to pass us to get her dinner (Yeah, pouting didn't affect her appetite. Amateur.), she'd slink along the wall with her eyes averted.
We finally insisted that she at least stay in the same room with us. Being obedient, she grudgingly obliged, but there was no "pounding down the grass" circles or snuggling. She'd enter the room, eyes averted, and immediately lay down facing a blank wall.
Even Otto thought she was being a putz.
Baby Hagrid, however, respected her space.
This went on for almost two solid weeks until one evening when Phil was sitting on the floor playing tug-o-war with Hagrid. Both Hagrid and Phil were making growly noises and having a grand time, and just for a moment Gracie forgot she was pouting and turned to watch them.
The look on her face was priceless. She looked from Phil, to me, to Hagrid, back to me, to Phil, as if to say, "Wait. Wait... we can... play with him? Really??"
She got up and tiptoed over to Phil. He offered up his end of the rope, tiny little Hagrid holding the other end with the intensity only a puppy can manage. Gracie oh-so-gently took Phil's end of the rope, looked at Hagrid, and YANKED the rope with all her Labra-might.
Little Hagrid (I know it's hard to imagine) flew through the air in a steep arc and landed with a yelp.
And Grace. Was. Devastated.
Good lord, she finally decided to play with him, and what was the first thing she did? Break him!
Of course he wasn't broken. In fact, he thought the flight was awwwwsome!!! After the initial shock wore off, he sprung up and bounced in circles around Gracie, so incredibly happy that she'd finally relented and played with him. She absolutely covered him in kisses and licks, and a whole new relationship was born.
That was the moment Gracie became the Party Police - grumbling at any dog that wanted to play rough with Hagrid, afraid they might break the baby.
Hagrid grew and grew and grew, and within just two months he was already bigger than Grace, but she was always his guardian. Even when she could walk under his belly without ducking (which she did often because the shortest distance between two points was always under Hagrid).
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| She knew she'd regret giving in. |
For the next eight years, Gracie was Hagrid's brain. He couldn't do anything without checking with her first. And by checking with her, I mean smacking her with one of those giant paws and asking "GRACIE - DO I WANT A COOKIE?" and (smack) "GRACIE - DO I WANT TO GO FOR A WALK?"
Yes. Hagrid spoke in all caps.
When Gracers moved on to the Rainbow Bridge last year, I spent a lot of time snuggled into Hagrid, breathing in the soft hairs behind his wonderful ears, asking him how on earth he was going to manage without his brain.
And of course he managed just fine. He was, after all, Mr. Zedd of Lionslair, Hagrid, bearer of two magical names, a heart the size of all of Canada, and an innocence as pure as a newborn baby.
When Otto left us, it was after a year of fading abilities. It was a horrible, drawn out period of denial; Otto couldn't be leaving us - not this way. Gracie's body folded under her, with an equally drawn out period of denial. After Gracie died, we thought, or hoped, that when Hagrid's time came, it would be fast, and with no terrible decisions to be made.
The weekend before last, Hagrid was flying through the meadows of Caribou with the rest of the gang, finding puddles, doing his duty as the reigning Party Police (a position he inherited after Gracie's passing), making friends with tourists on ATVs, and being his goofy, galoot self. On Wednesday evening he was feeling a little punky. On Thursday he was punky enough to warrant a visit to the vet, who sent us to the emergency clinic.
And Friday afternoon, baby Hagrid moved on to the Rainbow Bridge to be with Uncle Otto and Aunt Grace. He was nine years old, and "fast" made no difference.
I hope Gracie got in at least one good smack before he realized where he was.
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