PASSION IN A FURRY BROWN AND WHITE SLOBBER PACKAGE

Dogs are man's best friend. Whoever wrote this is genius. Just look into those soulful eyes and you will fall instantly. If not, then perhaps you better question whether you have a soul. If you were to ask any of my friends what I was passionate about, they would respond with one or all three of these; football, dogs, or education. I was drawn to dogs at an early age. My earliest memory is of my mom knocking on someone's door and me putting my face up to the screen as a Doberman Pincher looked out from the inside. She scolded me for being fearless and said if that dog had been mean, it could have bitten me. A mean dog? Humans are inherently mean. Dogs are just instinctual animals that can turn mean if mistreated. We were raised with German Shepherds, another breed that has a bad reputation like Dobermans. Friends and cousins alike were deathly afraid of these dogs. Not once were we ever bitten or growled at, and I would not have wanted to be the person who posed a threat to their tiny humans. There is a reason dogs have short lives. They are better beings than humans.

Babysitting jobs always turned into dog sitting jobs for me. I loved every one of my furry charges just like my own. I knew all of the dogs in the neighborhood too. Sammy the Samoyed Husky, Blackie the Newfoundland, Shammy the Schnauzer, Homer the Siberian Husky. But it was on the way home from school one day in the 6th grade that sealed my fate for life. Deep in thought, probably about academics or the 6th grade dance, I found myself splayed out on my back with a dog kissing my face and taking my breath away. When she let me up for air, I immediately noticed her breed and the puppies trailing along behind her. Both as rare as a gemstone. She was the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen! She was certainly a rare breed in my neighborhood. I had only ever seen Saint Bernards on TV. Plus, I had done enough reading at my young age to know that female dogs were typically not very friendly after giving birth to puppies. I was smitten; I was putty; I was in love for life!

Saint Bernard's have a rich history. In 1800, these large brown and white dogs were already being used as rescue dogs when someone discovered they had an uncanny knack for finding their way in blizzards. Records show that they first arrived from a Swiss farm dog population. Saint Bernards were famously used at the Hospice of Saint Bernard in the Swiss Alps. They carried a keg of brandy to warm lost travelers and licked their face and hands until they were able to walk again. The most famous Saint Bernard was Barry who lived from 1800-1810. He was known to have rescued 40 people. His body is on display today on Saint Bernard Pass in Switzerland.

One of the most magical days of my life was when I was on the way to pick up my very own St. Bernard for the first time. I had read about them, dreamed about them, and planned for them like most brides for their wedding day. She far exceeded my wildest expectations . Saint Bernards are loyal, devoted, stubborn, gentle, and easy going; all traits that make it so easy to be so passionate about them. A friend once told me that Saints were ranked 65th out of 100 breeds in intelligence. I beg to differ. My first Saint was a neighborhood wanderer. She could get out of any gate lock like Houdini. She only visited garages with refrigerators in them. Smart girl as all the neighbors could not resist her face and fed her every time. Another Saint fell in love with a neighbor's voice and would break through the window screen every time she heard that voice. Yet another of my Saints would not stop sniffing my guest's head one night. That guest later came down with a migraine that lasted for 3 days!

The dog I had when my mom came down with Alzheimer's used to lay on top of her feet. She may not have remembered your visit or name, but she always remembered that dog's name and how warm he kept her feet. Ignorance breeds insensitive comments. Those dogs are mean! Haven't you seen Cujo? That dog had rabies. You know those dogs don't live very long. This from a man whose wiry little mutt was yapping all night. Like a momma bear, I defend my breed of choice every time. If that isn't passion, I don't know what is. I volunteered for a Saint Bernard rescue, and the first dog I fostered in my home, I ended up adopting. A foster failure as it was known. I belong to a Saint Bernard group online and cry every time one of those dogs die. It is comforting to be with those who share my passion for this breed.

Somewhere in this country is an island that has Saint Bernards running free everywhere. I can't remember the name or location, but that is my idea of heaven. I've watched videos of it for hours. It is my happy place. My dream would be to one day have my own Saint Bernard rescue island. These beautiful creatures with their never ending fur coat that sheds year round, drool that could be made into a glue, a stubborn streak that will literally keep them out in the cold and you up all night worrying about them, and a size that intimidates grown men, deserve only the best. I am the luckiest, most passionate owner in the whole world. But who is the most passionate, Saints or their owners?