Jeez, I don’t even know where to start. Maybe a quick synopsis is in order, so off we go on a little trip to the late 80’s. I have always been an avid animal lover, sometimes to the point of being ridiculous. Enter my senior year in high school… I was earning a little money with a part time job, as were a lot of kids. However, most of my friends bought their first cars….. I went out and bought a Rottweiler. Barron Von Schultz had a champion lineage and I had the papers to prove it. He was my guy. A big ox-type tough guy….his favorite toy was a car tire.
Let me back up; a week before I went on vacation to Florida with my parents, I put a deposit down on Shultz. Then I bought a book about the Rottweiler. Now, many of you didn’t know my father – he was very charming, extremely intelligent and regularly scary to me and my friends. I once got grounded for the weekend because Kerri B ate the last piece of lemon meringue pie! I don’t even like lemon meringue! I could go on – but that’s for another blog.
I was sure to sit next to my father on the plane. I said “Dad, look at these dogs, they are so majestic …look at the muscle tone” and he said “KIMBERLY. Don’t Even Think About Bringing A Dog Into The House” Hmmmm. Ooooo kay, I wasn’t really expecting to get shot down so quickly and being that I was a teenager and sucked at negotiating, especially against the master – I had no Plan B. I was totally and utterly unprepared for the rest of the trip. So I just read my book and let it go – but each time my dad looked over at me I was looking at that blasted book. That also did nothing. I got home a week before them, went to Hingham and picked up my new pup. My parents came home, my mom took one look at cute little Shultzie and melted. My dad looked at me and I think growled, and the dog stayed. Believe me, Shultz did not know about any of this. Throughout the years, my dad wouldn’t let anyone see him being nice to the dog – but I saw. He would pat him and talk to him when no one was around. In the end, I ended up getting into a lot of trouble with my dad over Shultz…like the time he ate the linoleum kitchen floor while I was at school. Seriously. I mean, come on…the freaking kitchen floor?
Now, we travel back to the 20th century. The year was 2004, Kerry was turning double digits, and after doing a lot of research on Bernese Mountain Dog puppies, I discovered a farm in Canada that bred Berners and a litter was due right around Kerry’s birthday. So, we put a deposit down, received 2nd choice of the males, and waited. The liter was born on Kerry’s birthday which clinched the “fate” factor. We had to wait two months before he would come to us, though we got load of pictures sent to us of all of their developments. When it was nearing time to choose which pup we wanted, we were sent a slew of pictures and one of the males was always smiling, tongue hanging and mouth open and eyes sparkling with laughter – that was our Simon.
We had lists and lists of names, we chose a million different names and then decided that we would have to meet him in order to gauge his character and therefore name him properly, and then we would make another list. It was funny.
Finally, it was time to pick up Simon from the airport. My sister gave me a ride and when we arrived, I could see the carrier with some black fluff in it – but since he was coming from Canada – we had to go to Customs, two to three miles away. AARGH. That was the worst. Soon enough we were back and finally I had the cage and I brought out this perfect little fluff ball, with the cutest face and the warmest eyes I had ever seen in a dog. Simon. It took us awhile to figure that one out. He spent a week named Zach, before I had to break it to Kerry that it was the wrong name. Then he was no-name while we (mostly me) discovered the perfect name. I set my alarm each night to bring Simon out and go to the bathroom – before I went to bed, I decided the dog’s name would either be Archie or Simon. Then I took him outside and when he ran down toward the woods I yelled “Archie, here Archie!”, and I wanted to stab myself in the eyes, it was that annoying. Simon it was. Ta Da.
What a great dog. He was so good, he just wanted to be with me all of the time. I brought him everywhere with me. One Sunday when Simon was 12 weeks old, I was walking him in the Arboretum before an open house and a dog came out of nowhere and bit him in the eye. He let out the worst yelp and I picked him up and ran to the car, crying my eyes out. Blood poured down his eye and over his little face and he looked up at me panting, more worried about my crying that his own injury. The vet found a small puncture wound above his left eye. Other than a little shaved fur, he was fine. PHEW.
Simon was the sweetest dog I’ve ever seen, he was a very sensitive guy – completely opposite of Shultz. If I yelled at Simon (very rare), he would hide under the kitchen table for the rest of the day in a depression. When I came in the house, whether it was a half hour or eight hours later, he would be so excited that I would have to stop and give him at least five minutes of attention, usually coaxing some sort of shoe out of his mouth the entire time. He understood me. I could say full sentences and I swear he knew what I said. Before a walk I would have to spell "walk" or "out" until he figured out how to spell it and would react as if I screamed WALK TIME! Even his name spelled, he knew. I would tell him "Not now buddy, you stay here it's too hot" and he would look at me, lie down and pffff his face on the floor to show his disappointment. He was practically human, only better.
Simon was popular in the Arboretum, with both people and other dogs. When we first started our walks, he would prance while he walked. Also, he had a natural knowledge of how to keep white paws clean, even when my sister’s dog lay flat in the mud, Simon just “hopped” over it.
Well folks, this is where I picked up this article again, four months later….this was one of the hardest and most heart wrenching part of the story and I just couldn’t do it. It’s still difficult. Simon the man. He got sick very quickly in May of 2012. He started to rapidly lose weight, had difficulty peeing and panted his discomfort. When the vet said he thought Simon had bladder cancer, I had to make the most difficult for me, best for him, decision ever. It was like putting one of my kids to sleep. Kerry and I went together and sat in front of the West Roxbury Animal Hospital on sidewalk with Simon lying between us as we both bawled. A nice man came by and patted Simon on the head. (he comes back into the story soon.) It was time. Kerry and I lay on the floor with Simon in my lap and we said goodbye to one of the best dogs I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, never mind owning He was a part of our family thru and thru. May 15th. I miss him very much and I hope he’s with all the loved ones I have in Heaven, bringing them as much joy as he brought me. My Man. Sniff. Even now, it’s difficult to relive.
So, the nice man, after patting Simon on the head then proceeded into the WR Animal Hospital to ask Christine if we were getting Simon’s ashes returned to us. Since I already had to go on a payment plan for the services rendered thus far, she said she didn’t think so. The man declared that he wanted to pay for Simon’s ashes to come back to us. So thoughtful! Then, the very next day, he returned and paid our bill. Amazing. To think there are still compassionate people in this world was such a beautiful revelation. To that man, I thank you deeply from the bottom of my heart.
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