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| Name: |
Dov
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Age: |
Deceased, Twelve years old
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| Gender: |
Male |
Breed: |
Newfoundland
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| Home: |
Rensselaer, New York, USA |
Gentleman "Dov" (Hebrew for Bear) was transferred to me from a long-time, elderly Northeast breeder who had been given him by Europe's most prominent Newf breeder. He was then just two and was so well trained, I didn't realize the quality of that training until long after he arrived. And that's part of his "gentleman" story about Dov.
We became regulars at the Albany, New York dog park just across the Hudson River and it was there, among the herd that he gained recognition as a wonderful gentleman. He would not only "work the room" by going around every day and greeting all humans, as well as dogs, but hold back with his greetings until an owner was through unleashing or tending to their dogs. Then he'd walk up and wait for recognition and he'd pull along side, waiting for that pat on the head. What he didn't do was come up and stick his often wet chops in your lap or against your leg and would wait until the approach was calm. That affectionate Newf "sloppy-chops" trait was trained out of him.
He made pals among all the dogs and people and was most renowned for his peacekeeping ability: He'd stride right in between two snarling or squabbling dogs, look them in the eye, give them a warning "buuf", and if that didn't quell the anger, he'd shoulder his way in between them to physcially break them up. This astounded everybody, including me, who's had Newfs for 40-plus years. (He was simlialry watchful of kids, despite never having been in a family.) And he'd play very well with little dogs, allowing them to wrestle him down to claim victory for the fall. He was equally at home in the water as at the dog park, wandering casually into the liquid or frozen Hudson and paddling out as far as he desired -until I called him back- and he'd just as casually stroll back out of the water, shake, and resume our stroll.
He lived a very long (12 years) life for a Newf and finally succumbed to heart failure when the City of Albany held a (surprise) fireworks display across the river from us. Normally, we'd ride to the country on the 4th of July, but this Father's Day celebration caught us in the back yard unprepared. He died the next day, leaving his new best wrestling friend, a Landseer yearling, pining terribly for the next year. His close-up portrait (the picture above) lives on as my "avatar" next to my posting name, in the Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and several posting boards where thumbnail pictures accompany my name. He still hasn't been soon forgotten after a lifetime of gentlemanliness.
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