I said Goodbye to a friend today.

He was actually more than a friend; he was a member of the family. He was BigPup, aka "Tiny", our English Mastiff. He was just short of his tenth birthday. To some this may seem rather young for a dog to die, but big dogs don't live as long as smaller dogs. For an English Mastiff, he was rather old. The life expectancy for a Mastiff is 7-10 years. So every day past his seventh birthday was borrowed time. He was actually in good health for the past several years. His only real issue was his hips, which I can empathize with as I am starting to have issues with mine. The only thing he couldn't do is go for rides anymore because he couldn't jump into any of our vehicles. If we really needed to take him somewhere we would use my daughter's small SUV, a Jeep Liberty, to transport him in. It was low enough for me to put Tiny's front paws on the bumper and then lift his hindquarters in. He, with some trepidation could get out on his own.

Tiny was originally a "replacement" dog. Our first Mastiff, a brindle female named Dot, had died at the age of six just before Christmas. She was also a special dog (aren't they all?). At the time we brought her into our family, we hadn't owned a dog for more than two years. I wasn't sure I wanted another dog after going through the heartbreak of losing our dog Ti (Tie) to cancer. So Big Mama (just a nickname not a description) talked me into getting a dog by suggesting we get an English Mastiff, a breed that I had wanted to own since we had been dating. So we drove for two hours to a Farm a state away, and bought Dot. The kids named her that because; even though she was a brindle (similar to tiger stripes) she appeared black. She had been extremely ill as a puppy and they had to give her an I. V.. The I. V. location had gotten infected and the result was a white spot, about the size of a quarter, in the middle of her back. Therefore, she was "Dot". She was small for a female Mastiff; she probably never weighed more than 130 lbs. She was the perfect family dog. She took all the abuse that small children accidentally dish out without a whimper or a growl. When she had enough, she simply got up and walked away. When she died my children were devastated. So I found a litter of puppies on the Internet that had been born around Thanksgiving, and put a deposit on a male. I then printed out pictures of the litter which I placed in an envelope. I then put the envelope on the Christmas tree. I let my ten year old daughter (#3 of 4 offspring) open the envelope because she had seemed to have taken the death of Dot especially hard. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Late the next January or early February, I went to pick up our reserved puppy. Our four children and Big Mama (just a nickname not a description) were otherwise engaged so I went alone. Upon arrival at the farm where I was to pick up the puppy, I noticed that it was more of a puppy mill operation than a family with puppies. There were several adult Mastiffs in a pen that resembled a corral more than a dog enclosure. One of these was a massive male that weighed at least 250 lbs. The proprietor, an older man, met me outside, and walked me to the "puppy pen". This was a roughly 10X20 chicken wire enclosure with wooden posts, a gate, and an old tool shed that had a hole that the puppies used to go in and out. The man whistled and 10 fawn puppies with black masks came stumbling out of the hole. They were about 8-9 weeks old, and each weighed about 10-15 lbs. He asked if I wanted to hold them. I answered "not yet", when picking puppies, I like to observe them to get a feel for their personalities. He pointed out the largest male and said "he will be a big one like his daddy over there" pointing out the massive male on the other side of the yard. Although I love "big" dogs (Mastiffs are considered a Giant Breed), size to me wasn't as important as attitude. I wanted intelligence and courage more than size. When I bent down to pet them, most of them came running up immediately, licking and wagging their tails. One looked, sized me up, walked over and deftly slid his way to the front. I decided I would take him. He wasn't scared, but he didn't seem to be impulsive either. When he made up his mind he did what set out to do.

Over the years, many people without a sense of humor didn't get the joke of calling a large dog Tiny. While it was to some degree a joke, it also came from a dog that was a character in a book. When I was 13, I read a book entitled "The Fellowship of the Talisman". It is a tale about a Knight on a quest that is accompanied by his squire and a giant war dog. One of the squire's responsibilities was to care for the war dog which was a Mastiff. I don't remember the dog's real name, but the squire simply called him "Tiny". I had given my eldest daughter the book when she was about 13.Three years later when I brought Tiny home; she immediately suggested that we name him Tiny. So that was that... He was Tiny..

Mastiff puppies are an object of pure joy.. They are large, clumsy and adorable. One of their most adorable traits is the fact that they have an excess of skin until they are grown. So when a mastiff puppy looks down, all of the skin of its head collapses over its face. When they run, their lips and ears fly up and down until they trip over their own feet of course.. I purchased Tiny a faux wool covered toy that was shaped like a gingerbread man and squeaked. It was probably 10-12" long and about 4" wide. For some reason, we called it his "woobie". He would get a small portion of it in his mouth near where a belly button would be, and carry it around. When he was "little", it would block his vision and he would run into anything in front of him. He had multiple "woobies" throughout his life and he always loved them. He would still get playful right up to his last few months, get his woobie, prance around like a puppy, and want you to take it from him and throw it. Sometimes he would bring it back and sometimes he wanted you to come and get it from him. The squeaker always eventually broke, but while it still worked, he would lay and squeak it to get you to take it from him. If you had any kind of squeaky toy that sound like a woobie, he would lose his mind looking for it. If it wasn't a real woobie, he lost interest.

Taking him to the Vet was interesting, Tiny was a Rock Star. Although he wasn't a "large" mastiff, he was a bigger dog than most people were used to seeing. He was close to 34" tall, and at his most studly, weighed in at 200lbs. I never actually measured his height, but I have a 34" inseam and he could just walk between my legs if I stood a little on my toes. As he got older and started to have issues with his hips, he ate less. His hind quarters began to atrophy a bit while his chest became broader from using it to haul himself up. From about the age of 6 his weight dropped and settled at about 175 up until just his last year when he was diagnosed with cancer, he then weighed 159.  Everyone wanted to touch him, ask how much he ate. Did he eat us out of house and home? He was a good boy and took it all in stride. One of the more interesting notes about the Vet and Tiny was, stool samples. As you can imagine, a mastiff leaves large piles... Well, when going to the Vet, they always wanted a stool sample and we could never provide one... Our Home sits on a mostly wooded 7 acre lot. When Tiny was a puppy and we first brought him home, we had a big snow storm that took several weeks to melt away. So I had to carry him to where the snow was shallow enough, or didn't have a crust of ice on it. This was usually the woods. So as he grew up, he would only go in the woods and never in the same spot. So we never saw any poop unless he was sick and had an accident. He was an easy puppy to train and had less than 5 accidents of either variety his whole life.

Tiny had a routine as he got older, we would let him out and he would patrol the property, there were paths in our woods that he created, and would always take. He somehow knew the perimeter of the property, I think it was because of the smell of the kids or me. When friends would come over and wanted to see the property, or we would have a paintball game, I would walk the perimeter of the main section (the property is shaped like a capital 'P' with the driveway in the 'leg' of the 'P'). That was the only area Tiny would go. He would almost never go down the driveway. Once his patrol was complete, he would lay in the front sunning himself, or perch on our front porch like a Lion on a rock. When he was outside, the UPS or FedEx delivery people would not get out of their vehicles. They would just throw the packages in the yard through their windows unless someone came outside. Strangers and friends alike would be met at their cars. Unless they were in a full sized truck or van, an open window invited a large slobbery head in to see who they were.

Tiny had an adversary that he was always on the lookout for. When he was a puppy, it was birds and squirrels until he realized that he would never catch them. Eventually it became "The Black Dog". The Black Dog was Tiny's primary antagonist. I am unsure if it was one or more dogs that were related. We are fairly sure that it came from the small farm immediately behind our property. We could tell when the dogs from that area were invading the yard. With a mighty growl and barking that would shake the trees, Tiny would charge off in that direction. We would hear a commotion, more barking, maybe a yelp, and then Tiny would come sauntering out of the woods like a hero coming home from war. We could see the Black Dog in the distance, apparently vanquished again. About a year ago, I finally witnessed a small battle in the "War of The Black Dog". I was outside in the driveway early one day, and Tiny, as usual, was my shadow. I heard something off towards the woods on that side of the house. I looked to see if it was a perhaps a deer. I saw two dogs, a Black Dog that weighed approximately 95-100lbs, and a mixed color dog of approximately the same size about 50 yds.’ away. As soon as Tiny saw them, a low rumble rose to a growl. He began trotting in their direction. The two dogs were moving  away, and Tiny was slowly following, rumbling. Just short of the property line the two dogs stopped, the Black Dog wheeled around and made a short growling charge in Tiny's direction. At this, Tiny, with a load roar, broke into a run directly at the Black Dog. What happened next could best be described as an outside linebacker coming from the blind side and hitting a quarterback around his waist, bending him in half. Tiny charged, hit the Black Dog squarely with his chest, and knocked him head over heels.  After what seemed like 2-3 revolutions, the Black Dog got to his feet and proceeded to haul ass away while growling back over his shoulder. Both dogs exited quickly. Tiny did a little turn and came trotting back over to me with the biggest dog smile I have ever seen as if he were saying "DUDE, DID YOU SEE THAT!!". It was all over in about three minutes. I travel a lot for work, and one of the reasons I wanted a male Mastiff was for protection of my family while I was gone. If nothing else, the intimidation factor would work. Raising a dog like Tiny, who was always sweet and good natured, I had my doubts if he would actually rise to the occasion. Mastiffs are known to be very protective,  modern Mastiffs are supposedly descended from a Mastiff owned by Sir Piers Legh II. Legh was wounded at the battle of Agincourt and lying on the battlefield. His Mastiff stood over him, protecting him for two hours until help arrived. During World War 1, the breed almost went extinct and they had most of the aggressiveness bread out of them to make them more family friendly. They are very territorial and protective of their families. After the incident with the Black Dog I witnessed, I knew that my doubts had been unfounded.

Having Tiny in the same room with you while trying to sleep was an adventure, if his snoring wasn't bad enough to keep you awake, in the middle of the night, he would come by and check to make sure you were still breathing. He did this by sniffing your face and possibly giving you a lick. He had several Nylabone chew toys, one was very large and heavy. While you were sleeping, he may decide that you need it more than he did by dropping it on you. You see all of this was possible because he was taller than the average bed height. We then decided that we all had to close our bedroom doors at night to keep him out. If you happened to fall asleep on the couch, you were fair game.. Tiny didn’t just snore, he was a world class snorer. If he was sleeping on the main floor of the house, and we were in the basement. The entire ceiling would vibrate with his snoring.

There are only two downsides to having a Mastiff, especially a male. They are slobber, and his tail. Slobber gets everywhere and if you don't get it while it is still fresh, it turns into concrete. Changing or getting fresh water is also an experience. After a Mastiff has drunk, what is left is not unlike corn syrup, same consistency, and stickiness. It can make you gag.. We tried one of those dog watering systems that have a three gallon jug for a reservoir, the slobber found its way to float on the top of the water in the jug. We quickly abandoned that plan. As for the tail, it is painful when hit. The most excruciating part is when you are a man of a certain height and you catch the end of a wagging tail in your crotch. It can make a grown man cry...

It is hard watching a friend fade away. He started getting cysts on his back about a year ago. Finally he developed a strange lump under his tail. We took him to the Vet, and they confirmed that all the lumps on his back were cysts, the one under his tail was cancer. We talked about treatment briefly, but as I said, he was about nine and a half years old at the time. Mastiffs usually don't live much past eight. The decision was, one would it work (dogs survive cancer treatments at about an 8% rate), and two, even if it did, how much longer did he really have anyway? Did we want what little time he had left to be all about treatments? How sick would it make him? How miserable would he be just to die anyway?. We decided to let it run its course. The Vet said that eventually the tumor would burst and begin to bleed. It would then get to a point where he could die of blood loss before the cancer actually killed him. About a month later, the tumor began bleeding lightly, and then his right rear leg stopped working correctly. It didn’t seem as if it hurt, he just that he couldn't make it work the way he wanted it to. We knew then it was time to say goodbye before he really had to suffer. Tiny was almost always my shadow, rarely did he not want to be with me, where ever I was. As he became sicker, and he could walk as good or get up as easily, he would whimper and whine if he couldn't see me. So I stayed as close as I could for as long as I could.

Once, during a conversation my son and I had about immortality, I told him that I didn't want to be immortal because I couldn't stand to watch all of my loved ones and friends die. He didn't really understand. When he found out that Tiny had cancer, he told me "Dad, I finally get it now, why you said you wouldn't want to be immortal. It hurts too much when someone you love dies."

My children have asked me, "Of all of the dogs you have owned, which one was your favorite?" I always answer, "The one I have now." Tiny will most likely be my last dog. I, who once could never have imagined living without a dog, have no more room in my heart for sorrow. I love them too much and it hurts too much to say goodbye. I had come to this realization once before when Ti, one of our Rottweilers had lymphoma. Big Mama (just a nickname not a description) thought that children need a dog and knew that a Mastiff would be too irresistible for me. I am glad she knew, otherwise I would never have gotten to know Tiny. I don't know if I can invest that much love again in a dog. My Paternal Grandmother used to say she hated dogs. One evening while swinging on her porch, Grandma told me that she didn't really hate dogs, she just didn't want to like them, and it was too hard to watch them die. I was nine and didn't really understand. I understand now.

Goodbye Tiny Boy, you were a good dog, you were the best dog, and you were my last dog.