My Sweet Boy
Perfection
I.
Its been a season of so much loss lately. Bismarck passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at our home on November 22nd. He was five years old. We suspect bloat or a heart attack. It’s been too much to even bear writing, but I want to try so that I can remember and memorialize how special he was, what he meant to me and my family. I’ve tried to divide my thoughts into sections.
The last thing that I told him, that I know he heard, was “my sweet boy.” I had just said it in passing as I went into my room; it’s what I would tell him all the time, giving him a little stroke on his head. I miss him so much, but I have so many memories of my sweet, sweet boy.
II.
We went to Georgia to get Bismark. It had been several months after our other dog, our beloved and constant companion Alfie, had passed away from cancer. Alfie deserves his own time, because he was a most special dog. Alfie was a rescue from Livingston. He was with us for nine years—through college, several apartments and two homes. He was faithful, kind, and gentle. He was/is irreplaceable and unforgettable.
We wanted a Leonberger because of how much they seemed to remind us of Alfie (if much bigger), and how beautiful and loving we had learned the breed was. We had seen two just once (they are a rare find in Louisiana).
It was a time of new things. We had never had a purebred dog. I had never been to Georgia. We went to the aquarium in Atlanta. We went to the Civil Rights Museum—one of the best and most impactful museums I have ever visited. His breeder lives on Lake Allatoona. It is a man-made lake set in the hills, and we got to walk in the forest just next to their bed and breakfast. It was beautiful and restive. We met his mom, Daisy. I still think she is the most beautiful female Leonberger I have ever seen. We met the other last littermate—Uma. I could tell that she was smart and outgoing. Bismarck wandered around, trundling on his chunky legs like a little nugget. When we brought him home, a long, long drive in heavy rain, he barked into my ear the whole time. I loved it.
We took him to a dog show in Hattiesburg, MS when he was about 5 months old. I had never been to Hattiesburg, or a dog show. It was a lot of fun. We won the class! Well, it might have been more luck than anything. There weren’t any Leonbergers there. So he won his group. And when it came time for the bigger class, it was only Bismarck and a beautiful Harlequin great dane shown by, oh gosh, probably a seven year old girl. But, a strange twist! The little girl showing her great dane puppy missed the the call for the class. We tried to let the judge know, but she didn’t seem to care; apparently those are the breaks with dog shows. I think he still would have won against the great dane. We returned to Louisiana with a giant pink ribbon, triumphant. I have kept that ribbon next to his picture in my office for the past 5 years, and damn it if I’m not still proud of our first and only dog show.
III.
As fun as it was, dog shows are a whole thing that really aren’t my thing, or Bismarck’s thing. And since before we got him, my goal with Bismarck was to make use of him as a therapy animal. I knew that he was special, and I wanted to share that with others. But training a giant dog is not a walk in the park. Straight up, puppies and adolescent dogs can be jerks. And Bismark really tested me. But he also taught me to practice abundant patience. He taught me to problem solve behaviors, to not over/under react, and to be sensitive to him. And I realized how much I loved the process of problem solving through him (it’s also one of the reasons I love photography). I became able to predict his behavior, to see the things that I would need to problem-solve with him before they even happened. And I think he could sense that I cared deeply for him by being sensitive to his cues, which only strengthened our bond.
We put him in puppy daycare so that he could socialize with other dogs (he grew up to love playing with other dogs). We went to puppy classes and met amazing people there, and Ally, an amazing trainer and person who now owns Zen Dog of Lafayette. Matt and I were proud when he graduated from puppy class. We learned so much about how to direct and redirect a chunky boy who was fast losing his puppy fur and growing lanky.
To continue to train him, we walked every day. Three miles in the morning and evening. It was our special time together. We walked to the church across the street and back. He made me a healthier person with our daily walks. It was the time that we bonded with each other the most.
I joined Pet Partners of Acadiana immediately when we got Bismarck. I learned everything I could from Terry, who had extensive experience with big dogs. She had (and has) so much good advice. I met so many new friends committed to providing comfort through the human-animal bond—Shauna, Kathy, Karen, Tara, Donna, Jennie, Lorna and Christine—just to name a few special people in Pet Partners who have the kindest of hearts. When the time came for therapy evaluations, I felt he wasn’t ready at a year old, and even at two. But at three years old, we took and passed our Pet Partners evaluation. It was a special moment of accomplishment for me.
Bismarck was best with older people, so we went to Camelot of Broussard. We also made trips to the Brain Injury Center of Acadiana. I think that was his favorite place to visit. On all of our visits to Camelot and the Brain Injury Center, we always went with Chewie and Debbie. Chewie is a little Lahsa Apso with tons of personality. They were like the odd couple working the rooms. With a big dog and a little dog, there was always something for someone. I tried to go as much as I could, but when COVID hit this year, we really didn’t get to attend anything. I regret that this year was lost for therapy for us.
IV.
I wouldn’t have gotten into photography without Bismarck. I was obsessed with taking the perfect picture of him. At first it was just on my phone, on our walks. A leonberger is a challenging subject photographically. The dark face mask contrasting with the lighter body makes getting the right exposure difficult. I shouldn’t overstate it, but it probably is one of the more challenging breeds to light because of the contrast. In chasing that goal, I developed a love of photography, and spent so many hours engaged in my new pastime. I’ve been able to become proficient at something, and be proud of other accomplishments because of him. Photography is yet another gift that he gave to me. In turn, photography has been something special I can share with my mom. She loves nature photography, and I love portrait photography, so there is always something to talk about, to learn about from each other.
In September, for my birthday, Matt got me the Tamron 70-180. It’s a new lens that has the focal length I have been dreaming of using natively on Sony. I had never been satisfied with the response from Canon glass with an adapter. This would be exactly what I needed. I took a half day and brought Bismarck to my parents’ home in their pasture. Bismarck got to play and be a dog, running at first then slowing down to his tumbling jog as he tired. The picture above is that perfect picture of Bismarck. Friendly, goofy, and ever devoted to me. The perfect picture of my sweet boy.
One of my Leonberger friends suggested that I submit a photo from that day to the Leonberger Health Foundation calendar. Matt and I selected one photograph that I thought was emblematic of the breed, and I was so proud to learn that he was in it! I got the calendar a few days after he passed. I can barely stand to look at it without crying.
When we last took family pictures in September, I made sure Matt got some of just me and Bismarck. I’m so glad we have those pictures together.
Bismarck’s calendar picture
V.
I miss that Bismarck was the bridge between our lives without, then with a child. I didn’t think that we could have children. I had given that idea up for a time. Without children, the decision to get a giant dog breed that we had always loved seemed an easy choice. I wanted to put so much effort into making Bismarck a special dog for other people. When we learned that we would have a child, I worried. What would my (then) 140 lb. dog think of a baby? His size alone would make him potentially dangerous. I worried. But it seems that my worry was unnecessary. I think Bismarck could see how much I loved JV. Many nights he would sleep in front of JV’s room, not mine. He would always greet JV with a little nose to his cheek. JV did not care for it. I would tell JV that Bismarck doesn’t have hands, and can’t talk—this is the only way he knows how to tell you he loves you.
I felt that in the last year or so, he had developed into a beautiful, wonderful family dog. His mane had grown in fully. His hair was soft and golden. JV started calling him his friend, just in the past few months. The week before he died, I got him a new dog bed. JV and he had a “sleepover” on the new bed. JV brought Bismarck his own dog lovey so that he could “go night night” with it. We went on a hiking trip with him just the week before he passed. The day before he died, I know he had the perfect day. He got to swim in the pool and play with the horses in my parents’ pasture. Those are the things I want to remind myself of.
VI.
His absence fills everything in my home. There’s no more dog hair, no more poofs of hair scattered in corners. No muddy paw prints. The doggy smell is gone, replaced with the wax melts and room fresheners I used to try to ineffectively conceal the dog-ness. My clothes have slowly accumulated less and less hair clinging to the fibers. The corners of my table are clean—no drool marks, no dust bunnies of hair. I hate it. I hate how clean my house is now. I come home and I don’t see him in the front door window. I don’t have to think about the logistics of having a giant dog in my house. I don’t have to turn to prevent the greeting ambush when I bring in groceries. Visitors can come into my house without me warning, “he’s big but friendly." I don’t have to fuss at him when he is over-enthusiastic about greeting. I don’t have to think about how he will handle small children. I don’t shoo him away from my take-out. I don’t get to come home at lunch and just pet him or hug him tightly because the morning was hard. I hate the absence in my thoughts, which gets replaced with grief. I have all these regrets, guilts and what-ifs. I try to focus on our time together.
When I think of his absence, and all the grief that accompanies it, I have to think about everything and everyone he brought into my life. I have made so many friendships because of Bismarck. I have made friends with other Leonberger owners, and Heather, the owner of Uma. I have made friendships through puppy class, through training, through Pet Partners, through photography.
He was a dog who gave to me in overwhelming abundance.
VII.
Bismarck is an irreplaceable dog, as was Alfie. I’ve been trying to piece together what made Bismarck so special to me. Matt told me that Bismarck gave me a job, but he gave me so many jobs—caretaker, teacher, friend—and taught me so much about being a more kind, more patient person. My neighbor told me that “he was good people.” And he really was; he made me feel safe, made my home feel safe, and he made me feel like I was a special person to him. And not just me— I’ve seen so many faces light up when they’ve seen him. Terry told me that the big dogs are more human. I think that’s true. I’ve never felt as connected to any animal as I had Bismarck. I’ve lived with a 170 lb. partner, friend, guardian for five years. I raised him from an 18 pound little nugget. We were tethered together by a strong, yet invisible bond born of all of our hours spent together.
I believe that a dog is what we make of them—they are a collection of the love and resources we give them, and I gave so much time and effort into making him the best companion for me. But it’s also true that we are what our dogs make us—and he made me a better person. Period. We were like two wells that replenished each other. And we were both better for it.
I will never have another Bismarck.
