Hello, I am Howard's mom. Allow me to take over his blog for a post to describe to you the essence of Howard. I have his number, let me tell you. If Howard were a human, he would be an A-hole. Straight up. At this point in his years, he is a crotchety, demanding, old man.
I love this dog and will miss him dearly when his days are over. Howard and I have been through thick and thin. He is truly a best friend. When we lived in Lake Havasu and Brad would leave for 3 days at a time to go work in Santa Barbara, I asked him, "What would you think if I got a dog?" To which Brad replied, "Use your best judgement." Best judgement, meet Howard.
I picked Howard out from this litter of cute pups at the Western Arizona Humane Society, where I saw dog after dog who needed a home. It was heartbreaking. I wanted to gather them all up and take them with me, but that would have been poor judgement and I promised Brad that I would use my "best judgement." So I picked Howard up and took him home with me, and on the ride home he clung to me for dear life. This cute little black puppy who fit in the palm of my hand, and spent his first nights in a laundry basket by our bed.
I had a best friend and a protector right from the beginning. Brad was away in Santa Barbara for the first two days of Howard's new life. I remember the bug man coming by to spray, who Howard took an immediate disliking to. He also disliked the man who lived behind us, and the UPS man, the Postman, and the FedEx man. However, when Brad showed up and he and Howard laid eyes on each other it was love at first sight! The heavens opened up, and choirs of angels sang
Amazing Grace. I was dethroned as number 1 in Howard's eyes.
Howard was a bastard from day one. He really was. He has never been a cuddly dog, unless he is sad. People would try to pet him and he'd dodge them with his head. One thing he was good about was that he never really tore anything up. Well, one thing. The bed in the guest room had a box spring with a tear in the lining underneath that allowed Howard to crawl up in it and hide. Trying to get him out was a chore. He would run to the other end of the bed and Brad and I would have to try to herd him back to the hole where he would proceed to bite and growl at us.
Fast forward throughout the years and our move to Illinois. Howard loved Illinois and the fact that backyards did not have fences like they do here in the west. Howard would watch his neighbor dog friends for hours, and the cats, bunnies, and squirrels. There was one dog who always seemed to have one of those lamp shade collars around his neck. I swear Howard laughed at that dog like the judgemental bastard he is. Well, it backfired on him, because he ended up with one of those on after surgery to remove a lipoma (fatty tumor) from his abdomen. I know that dog looked over at Howard and in their dog language said, "paybacks a bitch!"
Howard is now living in northern California, and his political incorrectness sticks out like a sore thumb. He is not a tolerant neighbor. In fact he has all of the dogs who walk in the park across the street scared to death of him. There is one little white, Benji looking dog, who walks with an elderly man every morning. When this dog sees me pull in the driveway as I get home from work, he stops in his tracks and stares like, "Oh bleep...I hope that fat black dog doesn't come charging out of that garage like freakin' Cujo. If he does you're on your own old man!"
Good or bad, we love Howard. He may be a bastard, but he is
our bastard. We love you boy. Here's to all the times Brad had to sit on top of you and hold you down to make you mind.
