lovemyshiba
03-28-2003, 08:41 AM
I just read this story this morning, and it brought tears to my eyes--what a wonderful dog King must have been
KING
by Barbara Hergenroder
My elderly grandmother had a beautiful, huge German Shepherd that
wouldn't let anyone other than her, and one of my uncles, near him.
He was very calm until someone encroached on his comfort zone.
Then
he warned them with a low, rumbling growl to move back.
I was about eleven years old the first time I saw King. I thought
he
was gorgeous and wanted to pet him. My uncle had warned everyone to
steer
clear of the dog, but I just knew that couldn't possibly include me.
After
all, I made friends with every animal I saw -- even wild mice. I
figured
if I sat near him and talked to him in a soothing voice, he would come
to
see me as his new friend.
I tried it. He got up and moved away.
Over the next few hours, I tried to gain his trust a couple more
times. He just walked away. Finally, he lay down behind the heating
stove
in the living room. There was a woodbox on one side of it. I could
see
the only way out from behind the stove was right past a chair, which I
eased into.
I tried again to make friends with him. After a few moments, he
started to look a bit nervous and I heard the low rumble start deep in
his
throat. I continued to talk to him gently. He quieted and watched me
with
his piercing eyes. After a while, I slowly lifted my hand towards him
to
pet the top of his head. He sat stone still, muscles tensed, and
suddenly
he turned into a blur as he lunged at me with a deafening growl! His
expression was truly demonic and I knew without doubt that this was no
ordinary dog to be swayed by sweet talk. I was a goner.
Then I heard Uncle Ed yell as he yanked me backwards away from
King.
That was the only thing that saved me.
As I crumpled into a terrified heap, Uncle Ed took King outside.
His
face was ashen when he came back. He said King had been going for my
throat!
"Why do you keep such a dangerous dog?" I shakily asked him.
"He isn't dangerous to us. He just doesn't like strangers," he
gruffly answered.
No one had to tell me to keep my distance from King after that,
and I
decided he was pretty useless as a pet.
A couple of years later, while she was home alone, Grandma went
down
to the garden to pick some vegetables for supper. The doctor said
later
that her hip probably broke BEFORE she fell. So, there she was --
helpless, badly injured and alone. Even if someone drove into the
yard,
they wouldn't be able to hear her feeble cries for help. But King did.
He ran to her at once. Grandma wrapped her arms around the big
dog's
neck and said, "King, take me to the house."
That "useless" animal gently dragged her out of the garden,
through
the farmyard, up several steps to the back porch, and on into the
kitchen.
Grandma was in a lot of pain, so it must have taken a long time. Then
he
lay down close to keep her warm.
Grandma didn't have a phone to call for help, but she said she
knew
she would be ok until Uncle Ed came home, because King would take care
of
her.
That changed my opinion of King.
He and Grandma had a special bond that no one else, not even Uncle
Ed,
shared.
A few years later, when Grandma died, King found her grave in the
cemetery and lay on it until Uncle Ed dragged him off and took him
home.
He stopped eating and returned again and again to the gravesite. He
finally just kind of faded away.
After his amazing display of devotion, I knew that King never had
been
a bad dog. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could take care of
his
mistress.
KING
by Barbara Hergenroder
My elderly grandmother had a beautiful, huge German Shepherd that
wouldn't let anyone other than her, and one of my uncles, near him.
He was very calm until someone encroached on his comfort zone.
Then
he warned them with a low, rumbling growl to move back.
I was about eleven years old the first time I saw King. I thought
he
was gorgeous and wanted to pet him. My uncle had warned everyone to
steer
clear of the dog, but I just knew that couldn't possibly include me.
After
all, I made friends with every animal I saw -- even wild mice. I
figured
if I sat near him and talked to him in a soothing voice, he would come
to
see me as his new friend.
I tried it. He got up and moved away.
Over the next few hours, I tried to gain his trust a couple more
times. He just walked away. Finally, he lay down behind the heating
stove
in the living room. There was a woodbox on one side of it. I could
see
the only way out from behind the stove was right past a chair, which I
eased into.
I tried again to make friends with him. After a few moments, he
started to look a bit nervous and I heard the low rumble start deep in
his
throat. I continued to talk to him gently. He quieted and watched me
with
his piercing eyes. After a while, I slowly lifted my hand towards him
to
pet the top of his head. He sat stone still, muscles tensed, and
suddenly
he turned into a blur as he lunged at me with a deafening growl! His
expression was truly demonic and I knew without doubt that this was no
ordinary dog to be swayed by sweet talk. I was a goner.
Then I heard Uncle Ed yell as he yanked me backwards away from
King.
That was the only thing that saved me.
As I crumpled into a terrified heap, Uncle Ed took King outside.
His
face was ashen when he came back. He said King had been going for my
throat!
"Why do you keep such a dangerous dog?" I shakily asked him.
"He isn't dangerous to us. He just doesn't like strangers," he
gruffly answered.
No one had to tell me to keep my distance from King after that,
and I
decided he was pretty useless as a pet.
A couple of years later, while she was home alone, Grandma went
down
to the garden to pick some vegetables for supper. The doctor said
later
that her hip probably broke BEFORE she fell. So, there she was --
helpless, badly injured and alone. Even if someone drove into the
yard,
they wouldn't be able to hear her feeble cries for help. But King did.
He ran to her at once. Grandma wrapped her arms around the big
dog's
neck and said, "King, take me to the house."
That "useless" animal gently dragged her out of the garden,
through
the farmyard, up several steps to the back porch, and on into the
kitchen.
Grandma was in a lot of pain, so it must have taken a long time. Then
he
lay down close to keep her warm.
Grandma didn't have a phone to call for help, but she said she
knew
she would be ok until Uncle Ed came home, because King would take care
of
her.
That changed my opinion of King.
He and Grandma had a special bond that no one else, not even Uncle
Ed,
shared.
A few years later, when Grandma died, King found her grave in the
cemetery and lay on it until Uncle Ed dragged him off and took him
home.
He stopped eating and returned again and again to the gravesite. He
finally just kind of faded away.
After his amazing display of devotion, I knew that King never had
been
a bad dog. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could take care of
his
mistress.