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Happy Birthday, Xena!
She is, indeed, my Warrior Princess. Eleven years old today. And a survivor.
She was born on June 17, 2011, and–as a Great Pyrenees puppy–somehow ended up living in an apartment in center-city Philadelphia PA. God knows why. Or how. GPs are not–as a rule–high-energy dogs, and they can do quite well without an extensive running range, but, Lord. They’re big dogs. And they shed like mad. And they really do love the outdoors.
There’s no doubt that her first set of human parents–at least the woman, from whom I had an actual report–really loved her. And yet. The man and the woman got divorced.
And neither of them–in their new lives–wanted Xena. How much could this woman have actually loved her, then? Not so much, I guess.
So they surrendered her to a giant breed rescue organization. Something for which I’ll always be grateful. And in August 2012, when she was about 14 months old, I sought her out as a companion for Levi. A perfect fit.
She was a few hundred miles away, on the other side of the state, and the magical network of animal rescue nuts went into action–driving her 50 miles or so to the next drop-off point, then to the next, and the next, and the next. Until finally, it was my turn. And I picked her up. (I’ve participated in the same sort of thing WRT rabbit adoptions, the organization of which is called the Bunderground Railroad.)
Xena came with a personal note from her mom, explaining how much she liked to go for walks in the park where she would chase the bunnies and the squirrels, and any other animals that moved.
Crimenutely. I had sheep. And goats. “Chasing” was not even remotely acceptable.
Cue six months of deprogramming. Walking her around the fence and the farm perimeter every day on a leash. Restraining her from chasing anything. At the end of which, and when I finally trusted her not to go bat-guano insane, I let her off the leash and discovered that she had all the ‘guarding’ instincts that Levi lacked. In fact, she’d gently round up the sheep, put them into the barn, and then refuse to let them out. At all.
More deprogramming. Until we finally got to an acceptable compromise. That was slightly more than nine years ago, and for the last ten years she’s been a part of the wallpaper here, contentedly declining into decrepitude like me, with the occasional necessary medical adjustments. Almost five years ago, she had (back) knee replacement surgery. A few months ago she had some small tumors taken off her eyelids. And yet she persists. (If only she would let me cut her toenails without having to have general anesthesia first….)
Six months ago, she lost her best friend in the world when I had to have Levi put to sleep. She noticed, and she was lost.
But. Odo! A nine-week-old puppy who appeared in mid-February, gave her a bit of a new lease on life. He loves her. She keeps him in line, and has taught him the rules of the Farm. (There was a bit of a scuffle a few weeks ago, over a bone. One which I had to break up with the business end of a shovel, and one in which the old lady gave the young whippersnapper a bloody ear….).
But, when I put them out in the morning, he always rushes out the door first, and then he sits on the stoop and waits till she rouses herself, turns herself around, figures out which end is up, and wanders out to join him.
She’s getting more-and-more addled as the days go on. (I can relate.) And, these days, she likes nothing more than to scrabble around in the garden for a bit, dig up one or two of my precious flowers, make herself a nice cool spot in the dirt, and lie down and go to sleep.
Happy birthday, darling girl. I don’t expect there’ll be many more (the veterinarian told me, on Levi’s last day, that to have kept two Great Pyrenees into double digits is quite an achievement), but I’ll cherish every one.
A friend had a pairof Great Pyrenees: two enormous, impassive mounds of dog.
Bee-oo-tee-ful.
Look at that face and magnificent nose. Happy Birthday beautiful girl!
Happy birthday, Xena!
My dog’s 7th birthday is tomorrow. My girls insisted that we buy her a new toy because she lost the precious stuffed lobster that we got her last year. Then – what luck! – I found the lobster abandoned under the hedge in the backyard. Since it hasn’t rained in weeks, it’s still in good condition. Every other toy has been chewed to oblivion in pretty short-order, so the longevity of the lobster suggests to me that our pup has reached at least middle-age. She’s still always up for a walk or a game of fetch, unless it’s 100 degrees.
Yes, you really haven’t been leaned on by a dog until you’ve been leaned on by a Great Pyrenees.
What a sweet story and such a lucky pooch (both of them)! Precious!
Was hiking in the forest not too far from Vail last week and came across a flock of sheep being herded by a Great Pyrenees. Never figured out if a human was along also. The dog gave us the evil eye. Hard to tell the dog from the sheep!
LOL
Yes, I think one of the reasons they’re so effective as guard dogs is that they blend right in. So the wolf, or coyote gets the shock of it’s life when the “sheep” it thinks it’s cornered growls and rips its throat out.
I read about Xena and decided that I should walk Belle before I replied. It is nice and cool and the next-door neighbor just cut and baled the hay, so the field is great for a walk.
Belle (she is shown in my icon at about 10 years ago) is probably the last of the deer hounds we will have. At 7:1, she is about 77 in ‘people years’ and I am 75. Her speedy run has turned into a once-in-a-while “gallump”.
A great thing about a deer hound is that you don’t need to bend over to pet them.
I can’t imagine having another breed – but I can’t imagine not having a dog.
What a sweetie.
Neither can I–in either case. I’d always loved Newfoundlands–a family we knew had one when I was growing up, and I often thought, if I picked out a dog, that it would be a Newfie. Then Levi thrust himself upon us eleven years ago, and I fell in love with GPs. Over the last forty years, I’ve had dozens of dogs (I think my highest number at once was eight) and they’ve all been rescues or strays, many of which just turned up in the driveway or on the back porch, sometimes starving, sometimes shot, but always needy. (It would have been worse had our strenuous attempts to get the loved-up looking ones back to their owners not usually paid off…)
But I really love the GPs.
Two of my favorite photos. The first was taken a couple of days after Odo came home with me. Xena wasn’t yet keen on her new companion. After she’d had enough of his puppyish enthusiasms for the day, she maneuvered him into the corner and positioned her (rather capacious) rear end in his way, preventing him from escaping, stopping him from jumping around and licking her face, and securing the food supply.
He’d grown quite a bit by the time I took the second one (just look at that tail), and they’d bonded quite well. I took him to the vet a couple of weeks ago and he weighed in at 83lbs. Now, when I glance out the window and see them down the field, I have to look twice to make sure which is which. He just turned six months old. He’s going to be enormous.
Doggy strategy! Opponent contained, rendered incapable of resuming offensive operations, and lines of communication secured.
So funny. Yes, clearly those are the directions in which her thoughts were running.
Pretty sure Odo is currently working on his own strategic plan. Just this side of that black rubber mat in the photo is a dutch dooor, the lower half of which which pens them in the room with their beds and food and water at night (and when I’ve had enough). I like that because they’re not completely cut off from the rest of the house, and the cats go over the top and visit whenever they feel like it. However, I think Odo has observed the feline gymnastics, and I am afraid he may be conceiving a plan. He’s probably already discovered the climbing ropes, pitons, crampons, slings and carabiners that can still be found here and there around the house, and is assembling his kit. Would not be in the least surprised to find, one morning, that he’s made it over the top and is rappelling down the other side.
My gosh, how does one survive that?! I love those dogs. . .
Growing up, my parents just had one dog – a beagle – at a time. Once we moved out to the country, my wife and I have had up to 4. It is amazing to watch the behavior change when there is more than one dog. At one point, we had two rescue dogs who really bonded. When the first died, the other – a terrier mix – was despondent for months. That was when we started getting deer hounds. They would start about his size, but soon outgrow him. Deer hounds ‘play’ by shouldering each other while running at full speed. Our terrier (Scruffy, the magic dog) soon learned he could duck under them.
Because we showed the deer hounds in the beginning, they were left ‘intact’, unlike Scruffy. When one of the girls was in season, it was Scruffy that would exhibit all the nesting behavior.
If you have a dog and can manage another, I would strongly recommend it.