I am blessed to be living in a neighborhood of wonderful people who kept an open mind when a Doberman puppy moved into the area. Let's face it, Hollywood has created a vicious image of Dobermans. But whatever reservations my neighbors might have had they accepted Caesar and came to admire him. He was truly the canine good citizen of our neighborhood and set the standard of good behavior that all the other dog owners envied. They sent me sympathy cards when they learned of Caesar's death.
We affectionately referred to Caesar as "our black and tan clown". Boy did he make us laugh with his antics. To know a Dobie is to love a Dobie. He was so intelligent, he taught us more than we could ever teach him. He added so much to our family. There is a big empty place in our home and in our hearts.
Here's a tip for other dog owners, something I never stopped to think about before losing Caesar. I have hundreds of pictures of Caesar taken over the years and they are comforting to look at. But the house is so eerily quiet with him gone. It haunts me. How I wish I had thought to make audio or video recordings of him barking when other dogs walked by the house, howling along with us when we sang, racing down the hall when someone rang the doorbell, or even just the jingling of his dog tags as he patrolled his home. The sounds of silence can be deafening.
I've had the pleasure of owning many dogs and cats in my lifetime. Each and every one was special in it's own way. But I have never cared as deeply for any animal as I did for Caesar. He was one in a million. Here is his obituary.
"Caesar", also known officially as Spectrum's Love Love Me Do (all of
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