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| My executive committee sez water *will* come out of the long thing. |
| Bill Hollinger's Our Gallant Mosby |
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| My executive committee sez water *will* come out of the long thing. |
| Bill Hollinger's Our Gallant Mosby |
From: HiHat11@aol.com
Date: Mon, 29 Sep 1997 20:58:59 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: Re; Loss of a loved one
To Everyone;
Just yesterday Bill H (the elder) and Lavonia Hollinger lost
their dog, Mosby, in an accident. They are bereft and in shock.
As we know, words cannot console them but the care, concern and
genuine love we each have for our dogs can give them a little bit
of comfort. Start your e-mails, both public and private.
------------------------------
Our Gallant Mosby, his proper name, died on September 27, 1997, in a tragic accident. He was playing his favorite game, "Chase the Primate", when he ran, while still accelerating, into a parked car. His back was broken. He was suffering terribly, and even while in fear and great pain he tried his best to listen and do what we were telling him while we rushed to the vets. But there was nothing anyone could do for him. We brought him home and buried him in his special garden.
There are literally hundreds - maybe even thousands - of pictures of Mosby, and I discovered over seventy pages of stories and letters to friends I'd written about him over the four years he was alive. Unfortunately many anecdotes were not saved, are now lost forever. Still, reading what remains reinforced what we all knew, and reminded us of so many things we had forgotten. Many people remarked over the years about the photographs of my beautiful gray buddy. I always tried to explain that anyone with a camera in their hand could have recorded the same things I did. Mosby was the actor, the personification of one who lives life to the very fullest. I was simply fortunate enough to be there to share it with him, and to capture little snippets of his life in tiny fractions of a second, which appeared as pictures on the calendars these past three years.
Piper is home now, so there are still four Bouviers living with us. They are all special, and unique, as are all Bouviers. Perhaps it is this uniqueness that makes the void Mosby left so palpable.
Mosby rose each morning at 5:30. Each new day was so special to him. We always likened it to the special happiness and excitement one sees in children on a long anticipated holiday morning. Every awakening was the same. He leaped, twisting in the air, barked and talked, bounced the special happy Bouvier bounce and shared special morning kisses. Life, for Mosby, was always wonderful, and his enthusiasm was awakened and renewed each day.
Mosby was a talker. He had an incredible vocabulary of sounds, and if he couldn't find just the right Bouvier word for the occasion, he clicked his teeth. Communication was so important to him, and now that he is gone, we realize how important it was to us too. Mom was always up first, and he never left her side. They did everything together, laundry, catch-up office work, household chores, or just plain time alone between the two of them - whatever it was, he was right there, actively participating and verbalizing the entire time. When it was time to fetch the morning newspapers, he never failed to put on a dazzling display of his athletic prowess for her. He would race out of sight in the morning darkness, disappear, then reappear in a flash of silver gray. There was always a bit of marking to be done, and fresh scents to investigate. And his ever so accurate internal clock never failed to remind him when it was 7:00, his breakfast time.
Mosby was always waiting at the bottom of the stairs to greet me when I first came down each day. His freshness, enthusiasm, happiness, and love made for a wonderful beginning of my day. He sat beside me every single morning with that great silver head of his on my lap, loving me. And I loved him in return. It was a special quiet time for both of us. I could never have imagined the void its absence would bring.
Mosby and the other Bouviers went to work with us each day. Mosby loved to con his way out of the office into the factory, where he could visit the plant foreman, who was one of his special friends. Sometimes we would play there, me running, him trying to catch me. I have an advantage because the sealed cement floors were slippery for him. He would finally catch me and jump and bark and body slam. Oh what great fun were those chest high Bouvier body slams. Other times he could coax a walk around the building. That was pretty neat too, just Mosby and his person. Mosby was up for anything and everything - want to pull a cart? Oh, yes! Chase a frisbee, fetch a stick all afternoon, swim - in the ocean, in the pool, or race down the middle of a partially frozen stream during a winter woods walk, go on the Springer with or without Piper on the other side, play 'Chase-the-Primate', round up a herd of sheep in a tight little ball - then charge and scatter them so he can do it all over again, and race excitingly over to us to tell us what great fun he was having, chasing Billy on the bike - or better yet on foot so he can catch and body slam him. That last activity may have been his absolute favorite. Afterwards he also came over, danced around and lathered kisses on everyone. It seemed so clearly to be his way of saying "Thank you, I'm having so much fun".
Mosby was the personification of poetry in motion, of power and grace that was so beautiful and captivating to watch. He also had a capacity to love beyond that of any living being I've ever known. He possessed a great physical beauty, and presence, which drew strangers to him. He didn't care much for this though. I'd forgotten how much socialization we had to do with him when he was younger. However, for his special people, no one could have offered more of themselves than Mosby. He had a very special relationship with Irina, the little girl next door who appears with him so often on calendar pictures. Irina came from Germany, and Mosby met her when he was still a puppy. Whenever she would go with us in the car, he insisted on sitting in her lap the entire time. Here was this great silver furry beast, 90 plus pounds, with his small buddy not much more than half his weight peering around him to visit with us. On those occasions when she returned to Germany to visit relatives and friends, he checked for her at her house each day. And he was always the first to hear her outside when she returned. Great howls and woebegone wails ensued until we let him out to find her. Mosby had the fastest little stubby tail and tongue any of us had ever seen, and if possible, they were even quicker for Irina. He kissed and kissed and kissed her. Then he would stand back and scold her for going away from him. He did the same thing when she dived off the diving board into the pool. He was convinced she should not be under water, and he would push her to the side of the pool and give her a real scolding. I once heard her mumble, "Mosby, you're worse than my mother". Mosby and Irina were so alike in many ways. Each was, is, a unique and special individual, and I know my life is immensely richer for having been so close to both of them. Irina will be going back to Germany very soon now. Everyone used to worry so for poor Mosby because we knew the time for her return was drawing near.
One of the written portraits I discovered when I looked through my past files about Mosby was this scene, which took place over three years ago, a couple of weeks before Mosby's first birthday - when he finally accepted Piper and welcomed her into the pack. It helps illustrate a little of what I've been trying to describe about him.
* * *
July 19, 1994
Our new puppy, our old puppy.
Mosby is a beautiful platinum silver Bouvier, as powerful as a hurricane, and as graceful as a ballerina. When he moves he flows like a gentle summer breeze, quietly tumbling through the wispy leaves of a willow tree. He is still a baby, not yet one year old, but he is already very stout and brave.
Mosby is my friend, and I am his. His affection is legendary, surging forth like a time dilution ebbing through the universe, encompassing those he loves with a sweetness like golden nuggets of sugar slowly dissolving in a pristine morning dew. He is faithful too, like an old graying couple walking hand in hand down a path to a pond, where they will once again silently witness nature's wonders, shimmering forth, mirrored as golden droplets of a late afternoon sun.
But last week his world changed a little, from his perspective for the worst, when a little wind storm named Piper moved into his house. Piper is an eight week old female Bouvier, affectionate and sweet, but one hundred percent high fidelity. It is troubling when suddenly you find you must share your favorite people with a newcomer, even though she is distinctively pretty and extends offerings of special friendship.
But slowly a gentle heart holds sway over a mind striving to ignore the comely little newcomer, and a play-bow forms, almost as an after-thought, leading to a ballet in the air driven by joy, twisting this way and that like an autumn leaf swirling delicately through the forest. A platinum flash of delight, no longer encumbered and restrained by the bonds of jealously, leaping, twisting, gliding quickly around his delighted new friend, setting forth the seeds of a budding new relationship. A glimmer of hope formed, and we welcomed the dawn of a new day in the life of our Bouviers.
I remember this event clearly, even though it occurred over three years ago. Piper sat quietly and demurely and pretended to be so impressed with his display, clearly meant to dazzle her. It was the beginning of a special bond of friendship between them.
Mosby had a great empathy for others. He also had a pronounced sense of what was right, and wrong, and a proclivity to set things straight if they weren't the way he thought they should be. There were so many examples of this. Some which come readily to mind include the many times he "rescued" Piper (who was perhaps the world's naughtiest puppy) before she could get into trouble. When he spotted her beginning an activity she shouldn't, he used to race over and quickly choose a toy, which he presented to her as a distraction. My son's first dog was a male Chow, he rescued while still in college. The Chow's name was Bear, and as Billy's first Bouvier (Sherman) grew up, he (Sherman) was always keen to fight the Chow. This caused Sherman to spend considerable time in the kitchen behind a gate. I remember three specific times when Mosby happened onto the kitchen area and discovered his good buddy Sherman (Sherman is 7 months older than Mosby, and adopted Mosby like a mother when Mosby first arrived here - they have been inseparable ever since) in the kitchen with the gate door opened. Each time Mosby did exactly the same thing, he looked at Sherman, looked at the gate, and slammed the gate door to close it. Of course it has to be lifted to latch, so it didn't latch for him. So he gave it another slam, with the same predictable results. The third time he opened the gate door all the way against the wall, and gave it his most mighty shove. Still it didn't latch. He then gave us one of his famous Mosby disgusted sighs, huge sighs he made with such force that his beard flew out to both sides. Of course we were not as neglectful as he supposed, because in each of these instances Mr. Bear was shut safely in the den.
Billy's little female Chow Tasha, Mr. Bear's companion, makes a beeline for freedom whenever she gets the chance. Thanks to Piper that has happened at least twice. Once Piper opened the latch on a gate to the fence around the back yard and let Tasha out to "play". Another time we had Tasha tied on a long line so she could be in the front with us while we were working in the yard. That time Piper, the pup who loved to remove laces from shoes, kindly untied the knot and freed Tasha. Mosby ran and caught Tasha and kept herding her back toward us until Billy could grab her. The other time the neighbors called and said "your big gray dog has your little red dog cornered by our fence, and won't let her get away". Mosby was barking to get someone's attention, and he was successful.
When afternoon playtime was upon us, the Bouviers were wild like only Bouviers can be. Woe be anyone who finds themselves in their path as they race each other to the back door to begin the afternoon outdoor activities. Once Mosby bumped into poor old Mr. Bear while stampeding through the family room with the other Bouvs. He immediately stopped, walked back, and gave Bear a big 'I'm sorry' kiss, then raced off with the others. And not long before he died, we had to go to Chicago for a few days. He always wanted to go with us, and in fact ever since he was a small puppy, he would go out into the laundry room - knowing we leave through the back door which is in this room - and close the door, shutting himself in. He did this whenever there was a hint we might be leaving. This is where we found him when we were leaving for the airport. Mom said, "Mosby, I'm sorry but you can't go. You have to stay and take care of Mr. Bear". Mosby looked up into her eyes and walked into the family room and lay down beside Bear. And that was his duty while we were away. I have absolutely no idea how he knew what she said, but he clearly did understand. Bear has lost the sight in both eyes, and is pretty old and frail now. In the afternoons when Billy would leave the office, all the Bouviers excitedly piled into his car to go home for playtime. But as Bear became older and more frail, Mosby refused to go. In fact, he would not leave the office until I had Bear in my arms, carrying him to my car. This from a guy who loved to play more than anyone I've ever met, a Bouv who, if I stayed at the office after 5:00PM, used to put one foot on my knee, the other on my shoulder and plead loudly in 'Bouv-speak', his nose an inch or so from mine, to go home - Right Now, Please!! But that was Mosby, a real study in contradictions, from the athletic introvert who required so much work to keep him from munching strangers who happened by, to the dog who loved so much he put other's needs before his.
As Billy's special friend Kristen once said, "you have to live with Mose to really get the full flavor of him". And that is so true. I know there is so much about him I haven't even touched upon - the puppy who used put his face under water and blow bubbles in the water bowl, the crazy Bouvier who was so excited after his first (illicit) swim in the partially frozen brackish pool that he stood there dripping wet in the cold winter twilight, and singing with delight; the crazy Bouvier who chomped the clipboard thrust through our front door by someone hoping for a signature supporting his cause..... Still, I hoped to be able to share a little more of him than just what you see in his pictures. I know I have not even scratched the surface of the extraordinary depth of his personality, but perhaps, hopefully, this brief glimpse of Mosby will in combination with your experiences with your own Bouviers, make my hope of sharing some insight into this wonderful Bouvier, my very special person, a reality.
Bill
