Trenchwork

Kid Kaiser. 1994 - 10 October 2006

I’ve never met a more . . . unique dog. My old GSD was a calm, fairly quiet dude who took things as they came without much complaint. He was an accepting fellow. Kaiser was different. He believed the world operated—or should operate—according to his desires and notions, and blew off anyone or anything that didn’t. He was incredibly stubborn, very dog dominant, and could be pushy if he thought he could intimidate someone. He was also a mush who loved to be petted, who believed anyone who came into the house should first and foremost give their attention to him, who was puzzled and fascinated by children, and who thought the curtains blowing in the breeze were downright spooky and the best place to be when that happened—or worse, when the door squeaked and moved on its own from the wind—was in someone’s lap. He was indifferent to balls and chewable bones, considered squeaky toys—even on the television—the work of the devil, but loved a good stick. Failing a good one, he’d take what he could get, even if it was just a long piece of grass.

He’d been failing for a while, and what we guessed was a stroke a couple of months ago had more or less left him living on borrowed time. Yesterday we said goodbye. DH was with him.

The house is strangely quiet now, and the spaces he occupied seem all too empty.

Kaiser was DH’s dog. Actually, I’m not sure he considered himself anyone’s dog, but this was where he connected. He will be missed.