Petlife logo

My Favorite Dog

Who hated me

By Pam SaragaPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 3 min read
Like
My Favorite Dog
Photo by MATÍAS ALEJANDRO on Unsplash

Otto von Schultz started out to be my least favorite dog. At the time of our acquaintance, I owned three very large dogs, Draconis, Wilhelmina, and Stirfry. Draconis was a Rhodesian ridge back/golden retriever mix. Wilhelmina was a shepherd /pit-bull mix. Stirfry was so mixed that only God or a genetic testing facility would be able to sort him out.

Otto had a sad origin story. His original owner was an old woman who lived down the street. She owned Otto and at least 10 other little dogs. When she died the neighbors called the animal control people to pick up all of her myriad dogs. They caught everyone except Otto. He was very smart and eluded the dogcatcher for weeks until they finally gave up. That is about the time he wandered over to my house.

My three large dogs required a lot of food so there was always a bowl or two of dry dog food in my yard. He fell in love instantly with Draconis. She was easily 30 inches at the shoulder, 75 pounds with blond fur and a ridge running down her back. Otto was a dachshund mix with a little wire hair terrier thrown in. He was about seven or eight inches tall even if he stood on his hind legs, he wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye. But as we all know love is blind and males have been having difficulty with measurements for centuries.

The encounter with the dog catcher soured his opinion of people. He didn’t trust me or anyone for that matter. He would sneak over and snatch food and stare lovingly at Drac. He finally accepted a warm box in the garage but never came inside the house. I think he still missed his old owner, who had died.

Draconis was the alpha in the pack. You might think that I would be considered the alpha being the only human. But no, I ranked somewhere above Stirfry but below Drac and Willy. The second in command was definitely, Wilhelmina but it was an uneasy truce. They were always jockeying for position and dragging poor Stirfry in for leverage. Otto added stability. It dropped my ranking a bit, but I still owned the can opener and had hands.

This situation carried on for about one year. Then on a crisp autumn morning, Otto appears in my front yard with a gigantic dead white chicken in his mouth. I looked down the street and there was a line of feathers from my neighbor’s chicken coop pointing directly to my house. You didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to decipher the culprit. He just stood there, the massive chicken obviously the corpus delectable, clutched in his jaws. It was an open and shut case. The outraged owner followed the feathers to my house, looked at Otto and asked if he’s, my dog. I say no and was going to explain the strange relationship I have with the dog, when my mother opens the front door. Otto drops the body and races into the house. I don’t know if my mother resembled his old owner, or he knew he was in big trouble, but he entered the house like he owned it.

I apologized and offered money for the deceased. He started backing up toward the street. I turned around to see my pack of dogs just assessing the threat. They don’t look happy with the angry man. They are huge and look decidedly intimidating. Otto rushes out the door, barking furiously. He must have sensed a leadership vacuum.

The man breaks and runs and doesn’t stop till he gets home.

The pack is complete. Otto is home.

dog
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.