I wrote the following in 2003.
Since writing it I have learned a great deal about motivational training methods...if I did it again I would have used the treat bag almost constantly. You always wonder what more might have been done. An ecollar might have helped break his sock habit. He had a good life with us.
Eulogy for Oscar
Oscar died from complications in surgery this 12th day of November, 2003. We buried him this afternoon in a pleasant clearing behind our house overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
The surgery was necessary to remove a gravel covered sock from his intestinal tract. Our efforts to keep Oscar from socks were never entirely successful. This sock fell from the clothes line.
We acquired Oscar in the fall of 1999. He had been in the care of the SPCA after a successful animal cruelty prosecution for physical abuse and neglect, and we took him one day before he was scheduled to be euthanized. It was apparently not an easy thing to place an abused and traumatized 90 pound black German Shepherd. Despite documented physical abuse, neglect and some minor behavioural issues, Oscar was essentially an optimistic and gentle soul. Over the years he became more trusting and ever more appreciative of brushing, rubbing, and sharing of the loveseat.
The other side of Oscar’s character was his wild enthusiasm for free running in nature. Although he was submissive with cattle dog Coogan and gentle with people, he was brave and stupid enough to tree two bears in his career. His nose was often to the wind, as he would breathe deeply of his surroundings.
Oscar was not an easy dog to keep alive. He was sometimes impulsive and threatening toward small dogs, occasionally alarming them and more crucially an owner or two. But after a week of dog day care in St. John’s he had a gaggle of beagles in tow. It was that first 10 seconds of contact in which he exhibited an ardent curiosity that did verge on aggression. Obedience was never his strongpoint. Eye contact was impossible during drills, and when his other instincts and drives took over, you were out of luck. He would chase cars, snowmobiles, and ATVs, and thus had to be kept on lead far more than he would have liked: he was a skijor dog by default. I have walked miles through bog and skied many off track kilometres so that Oscar could run free and I certainly did enjoy that time. The sock habit was impossible to break and we never did succeed in keeping him from sticking his head in the hamper or laundry room, despite our efforts. In the woods he was more prone to follow his own muse or the scent of prey than the other dogs, as was evident from his five day solo sojourn in snowcovered and windswept Blomidon mountains, and his far more numerous 10 minute disappearances in the course of a morning ramble. In a sense keeping him alive and safe was our mission, and it is tremendously sad that he did not live to die of old age. His character would have continued to improve. He would have been a grand and beloved old dog.
Our memories include his delight before a walk, as he bounded and pranced and spun in happy anticipation of his good fortune. They include his uncharacteristic assertion of his place on the loveseat with one or both of us. His mellow howling along with the siren at the fire station across the street. His time spent with or near coyotes when lost in the mountains in 2001. A night sleeping with me under the stars in Terra Nova National Park. A 50km ski from Corner Brook Ski Club to Benoit’s Cove, across Serpentine Lake, up Red Gulch, below Southern Peak... Skijorring with a snowshoe hare ahead on the trail. Nights with Nicole in the Humber Village barn when I was articling in St. John‘s. The time he herded a moose directly toward me. A brilliant day of sunshine and fox tracks during an exploration of Burgess Gulch in Gros Morne Park. A special day at the Trout River Bowl. A 300m swim across a river to sniff noses with the Rottweiler on the other side. Saying hello on the walk to the bathroom at 3am. Apples for bedtime snack. The satisfaction of finding a moose bone. His enjoyment of an outdoor sleep under the falling snow in Humber Village, contentedly alone.
We love you and miss you Bud.
Andrew and Nicole
Oscar
#111469 - 08/17/2006 07:17 AM 
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, and we all learn more from our good dogs (more from the *bad* perhaps) than they learn from us.
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