1996 - 2009

Love by Kathleen & Frank Blair

She’d eat an Easel if you wrapped it in peanut butter. She loved to snuggle on the couch with us.

She and Buster repelled an intruder at 4:30 AM when we lived in SE Kansas City – this would have been 1999 or 2000. Everybody in the neighborhood knew where we lived.

She was the only one in the household who could control our evil cat Grey. She’d just boo-woo at her and slime her with a little of the sacred Dane drool, and Grey would chill out right away. Now – we need an exorcist. No countertop was safe from her reach – we lost more sandwiches just by forgetting that rule.

She loved to play tree – not stick – that’s for sissies. She and Harley used to see who could find the biggest tree limb to drag around the yard.

She was playful, joyful, funny, smart, sweet and loving. Not a temperamental bone in her body.

Her motto was : You only slime the ones you love. Ah  - the sacred Dane drool.

She was a lot like Dolly Parton – hard to miss in a crowd. People always made over how beautiful and sweet she was.

We named her for a 6’ red-headed warrior queen. We should have named her for Gracie Allen – a wise court jester. We called her Boo because at night she looked for all the world like a ghostly hound flying across the back yard or prancing through the park on leash. I was never afraid to walk at night with her.

She had her own special kind of mojo that could bring burly construction workers to their knees - literally - to get face to face with her and talk baby talk to her. I’m talking 6 footers with beer bellies, beards and tattoos. Men *adored* her. (See also Dolly Parton). Children were *never* afraid of her in spite of her size.

We are waiting for the dogwood tree to arrive for planting.  Frank is going to turn an urn for her ashes this weekend.

I may not have been the one who choose her, but she was velcroed to me from the moment she came home with us, and never wavered in her utter devotion.

Now Moose and Venus are both gone and I miss them so much; I hope they've found each other again. Carol

His name was Ben, and he came into my life on Sunday, September 22, 2002. After waiting forty years since seeing  my first Dane at the age of nine I began looking for that special Dane. A Harlequin, one that just turned your head, a rescue. Why a rescue? I knew that somewhere out there was a Dane looking for me and looking  for a home to call it’s own. I found him, or should I say he found me, on that warm sunny Sunday afternoon. It was love at first sight for both of us. When the rescue people walked Ben through that door into the lobby, I knew my search was over. There, standing in front of me was the prettiest face with the largest Amber eyes I had ever seen. It was from that moment on that  he and I became joined at the hip. Oh, of course, I had rules set in place for when he arrived home but those went right out the window on the drive home.

Ben was fourteen months old living in rescue since he was seven months old. He had been fostered out once but was found abandoned after running free for about a month going from house to house looking for handouts. He was brought back to the rescue weighing only 114 pounds. After a few more months he and I found each other. Ben gave me more love than anyone could ever ask  for, or expect to receive. His gentle kisses, his soft melting eyes, his sudden attacks of tearing through the house ending on the couch with that look of, what?

After bringing  Ben home we took him to our vet the next day for a check up and physical. The first words out of our vets mouth was what a beautiful Dane. She started her examine and in moments she looked up at me and ask, “you do know he has a bad heart,” and my own heart just fell to the floor. After she finished with his physical she explained to me that Ben had a heart murmur and that it would be fatal but suggested that we see a specialist and made an appointment for us to see a heart specialist the following Monday.

This started our long hard journey  with the his heart problems of cardiomyopathy. Through it all, it would not allow it to keep him from doing the things he wished to do. He was so full of life. He loved to meet new people, dogs and cats. Yes, cats.  Ben loved cats. He loved to zoom through the house out of the blue for no reason then fly back on his couch and look around at you as if to say, WHAT? I loved to watch his zoomie attacks.

Ben always had a canter in his walk. He looked like a Tennessee Walking Horse with his head held high and his high stepping front feet. People would always comment on what a pretty walk he had. If we had only known.

Then one day as he and I were shoveling snow;  he slipped and did the splits. I helped him up and gave him a big hug and kiss and we went about our work. That was me shoveling and him watching. It was the following morning that I noticed him limping in his rear legs. I took him immediately to the vet who thought he had strained something in his hip and placed him on some medications. After a few days he was fine. Once again he was full of the zoomies. But a couple of months later in late March the limping returned for no reason. We again went to the vet who said she thought we should see a specialist. Meeting with the specialist brought the words that rocked my world, wobblers, and it appeared to be progressing  rapidly. Ben was once again placed on medications and acupuncture was started. The acupuncture by Dr. Perkins worked wonders for the next eight months when it began to have no effect. It was decided that Ben's only hope was steroids, and high dose steroids. Knowing that his heart would be affected  we decided that it was our only chance to give him the life he wanted and deserved. He was like a new Dane. Once again full of life. Although he still had trouble walking and  would sometimes need help getting up, he was happy.

We knew the steroids were only a short term fix, a stop gap remedy. But for another three months we had our beloved Ben that we all knew and loved.  But once again the wobbler began to get worse and the toll on Bens heart was two much.

Ben lost his battle with his heart and wobblers and passed away on that cold February morning leaving us with a void that can never, and will never, be filled.

I know to some he was just a dog.  But Ben was more than that, he was a Dane.  A Great Dane, and my best friend.