On a December night in Baltimore, I was photographing the holiday fireworks at the Inner Harbor when I heard a call from down the pier.

“Is that Blitz?”

Two women I didn’t recognize walked toward me, with cameras in hand. They turned out to be fellow photographers who I connected with on Facebook.

Blitz was regularly featured on my social media, so when they saw a photographer with a German Shepherd, they recognized him immediately.

Not me. Him.

That was life with Blitz. It was his world. We were all just living in it.

Blitz came into the world on this day 17 years ago. I had done a lot of research to find Blitz. I settled on a breeder in Mohnton, Pennsylvania and paid a lot more for a dog than I ever thought I would.

I loved Buster, but he was plagued by joint problems his entire life. I spent thousands of dollars at the vet over the years and hoped  better breeding might lead to a different outcome. The cost was steep.

Seven weeks later when I met Blitz for the first time, I was nervous. I was third on the list for three male puppies. The first two families would choose their puppies. I would get the one who was left.

What if I didn’t like him? What if I spent all that money and wasn’t happy?

I packed the family into the car and we drove an hour and a half to Mohnton. The breeder lived in a beautiful home surrounded by woods. She greeted us at the door and led us into her garage where a pen held the most beautiful puppies I had ever seen. My worries disappeared instantly. Any one of them would have been perfect.

I left feeling relieved and excited.

Blitz came home just before Independence Day—fireworks going off every night. Most dogs hate fireworks. Blitz didn’t. He marched up and down the street oblivious to the noise, greeting the neighbors like the minions he knew they would be.

After his vaccinations, I took Blitz to the dog park for the first time. He immediately became fascinated by a spunky Boston Terrier named Ruby. He chased her all around the park, but she was too fast for him. They played together every time we went.

The dog park was Blitz’s favorite place. We would go for hours almost every day. He played with anyone who was there and, if things got too rough, he walked away. He was still a puppy.

He would sometimes act as the park police. If a dog got too excited, Blitz would walk over, look him in the eye, and put a paw on his back, as if to say, “Calm down.”

And if anyone challenged him… Well, that only happened once. A Husky decided he wanted to show Blitz who was dominant by mounting him from behind. Blitz walked away. The Husky followed and tried again. Blitz growled and walked away.

I looked at the Husky’s owner. He was watching and did nothing. So neither did I.

Sometimes, he was only half-joking. If anyone approached me—friend or stranger—he was on alert. If someone touched me, like when my neighbor put a hand on my shoulder, it was a flying leap and two paws to the chest that sent him backward. It became a game for Blitz, but the message was clear.

And sometimes he was not joking at all. One morning before dawn we were at Chicago’s Adler Planetarium. I was photographing the skyline over Lake Michigan. Blitz, as always, was watching my back.

The peaceful silence was broken by the most ferocious roar I had ever heard from Blitz. A jogger came over the hill just a few feet behind me. He meant no harm, but Blitz didn’t know that. He only knew a stranger was running right at us.

The man screamed at me to restrain my dog. I held up the leash. He muttered something about calling the police and ran away—probably to change his shorts.

Blitz also had a gentle side. He was kind to all animals, especially the smaller ones—like Ruby at the dog park or the neighborhood cats.

Blitz would aloofly allow it. No tail wagging. No sign of excitement. He would stand still as if to say, “You may pet me.”

On the few occasions when people walked past, he would stop and look back at them, as if to say,  “Didn’t you want to pet me?”

Blitz and I went everywhere together. His arrival in my life coincided with a renewed passion for photography. We explored the local scenery and learned together that Maryland is a remarkable place.

When I traveled, he rode along—road trips to Wisconsin and Illinois to visit family, and to Florida to see Alex and Dakota. Every place we went was an extension of his domain. Always confident. Always alert. Always in charge.

Blitz came along at the same time I was introduced to social media. My adventures with him became much of my Facebook content. My friends watched him grow up. And people who came to know me through Facebook knew Blitz better than they knew me.

We would walk along the water in Havre de Grace, and people would call Blitz by name. Then they would look at me and say, “You must be Mitch.”

“I didn’t recognize you, but I saw your dog,” she said. Her daughter played softball, and Blitz had been to several games.

I have always loved German Shepherds—all dogs, yes, but especially German Shepherds. I couldn’t articulate why. The best way I can describe it is this: they are my spirit animal.

I’m drawn to what they represent—loyalty, intelligence, protectiveness, discipline, courage, leadership.

Buster had some of those qualities. So do Dakota, Maximus, Floki, and Nala.

Blitz had all of them.

He lived to be 12 years old and was healthy until the end. He never struggled like Buster did.

He was the perfect dog for me.

I don’t know that there will ever be another like him.

If Roxy was my heart, Blitz was my soul.

Happy birthday, Blitz.

I miss you.

Blitz’s story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.

If you’d like to support that work, you can make a donation, explore The Great Dog Pack, or visit the shop. And if you’d like to follow along, you can subscribe below to Stories from the Pack.

Happy Birthday Blitz

Here’s a photo montage I created for Blitz’s last birthday in 2021. It takes you through Blitz’s life in about three minutes.

There’s more to Blitz’s story…

The Man with the Dog