Happy Birthday to a Band of Brothers

I know I haven’t sent you anything for quite a while. Believe it or not, some more immediate concerns have been taking up my time. In particular, I’ve taken a leadership role on the Art School of Columbia County board, which has taken up far more attention than I’d expected. It wouldn’t surprise me if you hear more about that in the future.

In the meantime, Max’s birthday is almost upon us. Max is our 153 lb Bullmastiff. He and his five brothers are about to be six years old. His breeders, Michael and Nancy, are friends who live in Kentucky, and we brought Max home from there soon after he was born. Every year, I send a letter to them about Max. Sometimes, it’s from me; Max does his own writing. Max’s parents are the late Gabe and Iggy. Iggy was raised (in part) by Daisy, our previous bullmastiff (she weighed in at a measly 115 lbs. So, not surprisingly, we wanted her spiritual grandchild.

True to form, I’ve forwarded a letter Max wrote to Michael and Nancy with the expectation that they’d send it along to his brothers. It follows.

July 26, 2024

My fellow princes,

It’s been a very long time since we’ve been together. If anyone’s to blame for our separation, it’s Michael and Nancy. Not that they were wrong. After all, six fully-grown bullmastiffs raging through a house might be a bit much, don’t you think? On the other hand, our very existence wouldn’t have been possible unless they had decided to have some more puppies in their lives, at least temporarily. But all that is really beside the point.

The point is that here we are, all six of us, having survived puppyhood, the trauma of moving to new homes and adapting to new people, becoming teenagers with all that implies, and now fully mature adults. It’s been a journey. And yet, although we are brothers, we are all strangers to one another. There’s nothing I can do about that, at least not in a physical sense. I can, though, tell you a bit about where I am.

I’m a six-year-old, fully intact male. No altering for me. I know that vets have discussed the pros and cons of altering/not altering with Lee and Michael (that’s not Rainey but Saltz), who are my adoptive (is that the right word?) parents. That was a fortunate decision, at least in my opinion. Not that I know what the difference would be in my behavior or life if I had been neutered.

Remaining intact has meant that I never have to visit or live in New York City. I never had to adapt to living in an apartment, depending on being walked three times a day by someone or suffer the consequences of feeling penned up all day. I mean, who wants to live in the city? Who wants to deal with all the noise, the hot concrete in summer, the piles of snow and ice in winter, or, even worse, wading through all the slush and stench of rotting garbage? On second thought, maybe the stench is not so bad. After all, who knows what delicacies might be hidden in those bags on the sidewalk? Never mind.

As it is, I get to live in the country all the time. Even better, I get to go outside whenever I want to. Yes, I have to ask if I can go out, but I’m not often refused. I get to roam freely over about 1 ½ acres of lawn, I can go in and through brush, I can roll around on the grass or the deck or the driveway, all of which I do with great frequency and pleasure. I don’t have to worry about getting scratched up when I muscle my way through brush and bushes (and I do get scratched up).

I love traveling around my land's perimeter, ensuring everyone knows it’s mine. Naturally, I’m willing to share it. The deer and I watch each other warily. I happily chase chipmunks and rabbits even if I never catch them. Admittedly, summertime bugs flying around me are annoying. I absolutely delight in my role of protector of my home turf, making sure that strangers are safe before allowing them near Lee (Michael doesn’t need so much protection). I mean, I know my job. At the same time, I love making friends with everyone. I am buddies with the mailman, the FedEx and UPS drivers, or at least most of them. There are occasional substitute drivers who are afraid of me and leave packages just out of my reach or at the top of the driveway, where I’m not allowed to go. That’s ok. I’m also friends with the folks who clean our house every Wednesday, and I always make sure to greet them joyfully and help them clean. Making the bed is especially fun. And then there are the friends and relatives of Michael and Lee. I like them all and ensure they know it, even if a couple of them are less sure about me. Michael’s son, for example, thinks of himself as a cat person and is quite disdainful of dogs. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m as happy to insist that he pets me just like everyone else. I guess I just like people.

I can’t say that I’ve ever been a destructive dog. I don’t chew the furniture (well, I did chew the corner of a coffee table when I was a puppy), and I leave food on tables alone. On the other hand, if food falls on the floor, I’m all over it. I have lots of toys, and I play with them all, moving them from one place to another, from one room to another, as the fancy strikes me. I have favorites, though. A piece of a blanket. A split elk antler. A couple of toys left to me by Daisy (my immediate predecessor). Plus, all the others. It’s a lot, so who needs stuff that’s not mine?

You know, I still sleep in a crate most of the time. It used to be something Michael and Lee insisted on (just as the other Michael and Nancy), and I got locked in at night. It didn’t bother me. But they no longer lock me in since I’ve become an adult. Now, I sometimes start the night in the living room and eventually make my way to the bedroom. Or I jump into bed with them to say good night properly. Much to Lee’s relief, I don’t stay on too long, rarely more than 10 or 15 minutes, after which I get off the bed and either pull one of my blankets from inside the crate and chew on that a bit before going in the crate to sleep, or I go into the crate, arrange everything in it to my liking and plop myself down. In the morning, I’m rarely the first one up. In fact, I’d rather not get up or leave the bedroom until everyone’s up and ready to start their day.

Michael and Lee make sure they feed me twice a day. When I was a bit younger, I drove them up the wall for a time when I got very picky about what I would eat or couldn’t decide what I would eat on any given day. But things have settled down now. I’ve managed to train them well. It’s good that humans are so willing to learn acceptable behavior. It certainly makes my life easier.

I think I have a pretty good life. Or, as someone said, it’s a dog’s life.

So, thanks to Michael and Nancy for celebrating us on our birthday, much as they do each and every day of the year.

Even more …

ALL HAIL, KING GABE AND QUEEN IGGY

Your brother,

Prince Max