Tomorrow makes a week since my giant friend died. Still sucks. Still going to suck next week. Always going to suck. I'll eventually get to a stage where it hurts less, but it will always suck. I'm sure my family wishes I would talk about her less, but I'm not ready to do that. It makes them feel uncomfortable because they don't know exactly how to respond and I don't mean to make them feel that way. I just enjoy talking about her. I enjoyed talking about her when she was alive I need to talk about her now.
stop reading here if this sort of stuff makes you sad. I'm writing mostly for myself anyway.
Like most of the things I do I didn't really consult with anyone before I got Zelda. On the way to work that day (we had a space in the mall) I told Dan that I wanted a great dane and had decided to get one. He thought I meant in the future so he said 'ok'. I meant in a few hours.
when we picked her up she was so huge & small all at the same time. I could hold her on my lap. Her dad Wulf was the largest dog I have ever met face to face. He was sweet. For the first week I remember people saying "how old is she, about 6 months" or things like that. The looks on their faces when I said "about 9 weeks" were priceless. Even though getting her was a shock Dan fell in love right away. He even wanted her to sleep in our bed. Something I didn't. I let her sleep NEXT to our bed. At least back then I did. For the last year or so she slept on the bottom part of our bed. I'm short, it wasn't a huge problem.
I miss sleeping with her. Dan never knew this but when he wasn't home and I was by myself I used to let her stretch out in his spot. She would lay her big slobbery head on his pillow and stretch out to her full length. We took naps that way. My hand over her neck scratching her ears.
I only saw her take an aggressive stance once. She didn't bark or growl or anything, but her body language was clear. It was right after we found out that Tommy was using drugs. I had searched his room and had something, don't remember what, in my hand. Not drugs - a note or something. He was yelling, cussing and generally out of control. He was stoned at the time and was using his height to intimidate me. He's 6'2" and I'm 5'4" so he towers over me. He aggressively snatched whatever it was out of my hand nearly knocking me down the stairs. Over his shoulder I saw Zelda stand up and watch him. Her eyes never left him until he went into his room. It's hard to describe the exact stance, but I knew that if he actually hurt me or caused me to cry out she would have gone for him. Normally she loved him, but I was her person. I don't think he ever knew the danger he was in. 130lbs of leave my person alone is a force to be reckoned with. He got off drugs and the incidence has never repeated itself. In no way would I have ever wanted her to attack my son - or anyone else. Still, a part of me really appreciated that she felt protective. A stranger breaking in would have been done for. Of course it would have to have been a deaf stranger - Zelda had a huge bark. Stinky has a tiny bark, but it's loud and shrill. You need ear plugs to break into my house.
Zelda was a junk food junkie. Her favorite food was corn pops. I didn't let her have them since she didn't handle corn or sugar well, but if they were in the house she would find them. She was also smart. In all the times she bit open cans she never once bit open a can of spinach. Only soup. I would come home to find leaking soup cans with huge bite marks in them. Part of me was annoyed that she ate $20 worth of soup and made a huge mess. Part of me was impressed that she could bite them open AND tell the difference between spinach and soup.
Those are my stories for now. Probably more later. It makes me feel better to share.