After the death of our first rescued German shepherd, Charlie, my husband and I let our children choose a White German shepherd. Our young daughter named her, Gretchel. After Gretchel passed-on, and being avid dog lovers, we fell in love with the Australian shepherd breed.
During January, our six-month-old Aussie, Sydney, discovered his first snow storm, and he bit and pawed at the white fluff. Snow never lasted long in Greenville, S.C. so we spent the afternoon sledding. I rode our children’s red sled and Sydney chased me. Suddenly, a Black lab puppy bounced out of the woods, sat my lap, and licked my face.
Sydney barked, telling him to go away. But the Lab refused and wanted to play. Murphy and I assumed he was a neighbor’s dog. After an hour of being frozen and wet, we called Sydney and headed home.
The Lab sat and stared. His head bobbed sideways, contemplating what came next. Moments later, he raced after us. We led him into our garage, gave him water, and Murphy dried his wet body while I went in and called our neighbors. No one knew anything about this dog.
When I returned to the garage, Murphy shared. “This guy not only is skin and bones, but he has three puncture wounds. I’ll clean these bites since we’ll have to wait until the roads clear to get him to the veterinarian.
The wounds didn’t seem to bother him and he ate as if he hadn’t eaten in days. We made him a warm bed in the garage and he fell asleep. During his three days with us, he showed us his loving and relaxed personality. As the ice melted, we drove him to the Vet’s office. After we paid the Vet bills, we called him ours and named him Jake.
Jake grew to over eighty pounds and his mischievous nature began to show. After he chewed on our furniture while we worked, Jake became an outside dog within our electric fence. Sydney and Jake played like brothers, but Jake invented new ways to be destructive. Our daughter was getting married and her decorations and invitations arrived by UPS one day on the front porch.
When we arrived home, our son was picking-up the itty-biddy pieces of purple napkins and décor shredded across the front yard, and in between every plant. On other days, Jake ate the electric wires to the garage door opener, and the wires on the boat trailer. We never knew what we’d find when we returned home. Jake would play tug-a war-with our huge Azaleas, leaving gaping holes in the ground.
I had been taking Jake to dog training classes and the trainer encouraged us not to use negative ways to punish him. She talked about using balloons, popping them so he’d hear a sudden loud noise and would become afraid of balloons. Murphy blew up a balloon and popped it. I screamed. Jake watched and Sydney ran and hid.
The next step was to tape the colored-balloons inside the azaleas, the boat trailer and any electrical wires. Our neighbors had a good laugh when they saw our colorful front yard. Jake ignored the balloons as long as they stayed full of air. But once the air dissipated, he ripped-off the balloon and swallowed it. We’d find colored balloons around the entire yard.
Jake eventually out grew most of his mischief, and he lived to a ripe-old age of thirteen and a half. He was the funniest and most challenging dog we ever loved.