When it comes to German Shepherds, the best of the best are the ones who are silver and black. I know I talk too much about Raebert, but he had a predecessor who was as difficult and intelligent as he is. Her name was Kristie.
She was a terrible puppy. Way worse than Psmith or Raebert. But Mrs. IP always says, go with the boys not the girls. The girls are awful. Kristie was. Her ears took forever to stand up. My dad despaired of them. Then they stood up and she got her gumption up at the same time. She completely destroyed a couch my mother had sewn the slipcover for. She was forgiven. My mother had just enough fabric left for a remake. Which Kristie destroyed within the week.
My dad, having watched my mother piece together the remnants of the first crime and then witnessed the aftermath of the second, threw her bodily out of the house. They went to bed. I let her back in. I thought she understood when I told her she couldn’t do that again.
You have to understand that the picture above is not Kristie. Her ears were taller. Her nose was sharper. She was the ultimate German Shepherd. Too beautiful to be believed. I could forgive her anything. So could we all. I remember, for example, Kristie accidentally catching a squirrel. That’s how quick she was. She let it go. She also caught a groundhog and killed it. It was a reflex. She nosed it afterwards. Sorry, I think.
You’ve heard stories about how many words a dog can learn. Kristie knew more than the average. A lot more. She became my dad’s constant companion, his shadow, his spirit.
She grew old in his service. As an ultra-shepherd, she became obvious prey to the hip displacement curse. At the end, he took her upstairs with a belt under her loins. Without that, you could hear her hip bones grinding. But she never complained.
She was gorgeous. She was brilliant. She was beatific. Hope I’ll see her again. Someday.