Jill and I reconnected in the summer of 2018. I was visiting my parents in Wisconsin when she responded to a birthday greeting I sent earlier that week.
“I see you’re in the Midwest,” she said. “Do you want to meet for lunch?”
I told her I would be passing through Chicago on my way home. We could meet that day, but it would have to be somewhere dog-friendly as I was traveling with Blitz.
Jill responded with a picture of a good-looking young dog whose breed I couldn’t identify.
“I have a dog too. He turned out to be the love of my life,” she replied. “This is my prince, Higbee!”
Higbee was about one and a half years old. He was found as a puppy wandering by the side of the road in Kentucky. He ended up in a shelter in Indiana where Christine, a friend of Jill’s family, found him.
Christine encouraged Jill to adopt the dog.
“Absolutely not,” Jill said. She already had two cats.
Then, one afternoon, Jill came home from work to find her children with the puppy in their backyard. She fell in love.
The dog was going to be Kevin’s. A firefighter, Kevin named the dog Higbee after a specific type of thread on a fire-hose coupling.
Kevin worked a busy schedule and, over time, Higbee bonded with Jill because she was able to spend more time with him. When Kevin moved out on his own a few years later, Higbee stayed with Jill.
I suggested we meet at her place or a local dog park so Blitz and Higbee could play while we talked. She wasn’t keen on that idea, so we settled on Kelsey’s Road House, a restaurant with an outdoor dining area that allowed dogs.
The location suited my travel schedule as it was near my brother’s house. Blitz and I were stopping there to meet his Great Dane puppy, Kitty.
It had been more than 25 years since I’d seen Jill. She told me she would be carrying a rose so I would recognize her. I thought she was joking. There was no way I wouldn’t recognize her.
I told her I’d be the one with the large German Shepherd.
She did, indeed, have a rose. Blitz, however, stayed with my brother because it was too hot for him to sit outside in the noon sun.
It was great to see Jill again. We talked for too long. I had to pick up Jake on my way home. He was attending a mathematics program at the University of Notre Dame.
I was late.
We agreed to keep in touch. I was skeptical. We had agreed to do that before. But this time, it actually happened.
We talked regularly on the phone. I wanted to come back to see her in person, but Alex’s cancer returned and life changed again. Conversations with Jill were one of the few bright spots in my life during that time.
Alex passed away in February of 2019. Suddenly, my life became very quiet.
Not quiet. Normal. The new normal, that is.
The frenetic pace of the past few months, the fear, the uncertainty about what came next, the horror of watching a loved one fade away in front of your eyes—they all stopped. So even though life was back to the way it was when I reconnected with Jill, it seemed quieter. I had time to think about next steps.
Jill wondered when we might get together again.
“What are you doing for spring break?” I asked.
Jill was a teacher.
So Jill came to Maryland at the end of March. I showed her some of my favorite places. She brought gifts for Blitz, Roxy, and Dakota. They approved.
Blitz, who was not always fond of sharing me, accepted Jill into his pack. He rode with us when it was time to take Jill to the airport. I got out of the car to get Jill’s suitcase from the trunk and say goodbye.
When I got back in, Blitz had assumed his usual spot in the passenger’s seat. He made eye contact with Jill to let her know it was still his seat.
By the end of her visit, Jill and I had decided to consider a future together.
I knew it was time to leave Maryland. My marriage had ended five years earlier. Alex was gone. Jake would graduate from college in May and was headed to Oregon for five years.
Living alone with no family nearby felt very different in my late 50s than it did in my 20s. I thought I might move to Wisconsin to be near my parents. Now, maybe I would move to Illinois to be closer to Jill. But I had some concerns.
In May, I came to Chicago to find a site for the Shoe Service Institute of America’s annual conference. I added a few days to the trip to spend time with Jill. Blitz and Dakota came with me.
Too soon? I didn’t think so. I had three dogs. (Roxy stayed with my friend, Jeff.) Compatibility with me meant compatibility with them. If it was going to be a problem, better to find out sooner rather than later.
Minutes after we arrived, we had our first meeting with Prince Higbee.
Jill let Higbee out into the backyard. I brought Blitz and Dakota in through the gate. The German Shepherds raced over to Higbee, who stiffened uncomfortably. They sniffed him curiously and thoroughly.
Higbee, who likes his personal space, stood motionless and looked at Jill. She assured him it was okay and, after a few moments, it was. Higbee relaxed. Blitz and Dakota explored the yard and, while they didn’t become best friends, they coexisted peacefully.
Then we went into the house.
Jill also had a cat, Angel. Blitz never had a problem with cats. Dakota had a feline roommate in Florida. But as soon as she caught sight of Angel, all hell broke loose.
Dakota barked and took off after the cat. Angel screeched and took off for safety. She found it on top of the china cabinet.
Dakota, eyes on the prize, ran full speed toward the cabinet, took a flying leap, and smashed into it with her front paws.
I heard the Borg Queen in my head.
“Watch your future’s end.”
And for what seemed like an eternity—although in reality it was probably just 0.68 seconds—I waited for the crash.
It never came.
Miraculously, all of Jill’s china remained intact, as did my hope for our relationship.
She put the cat downstairs for the rest of our visit.
Once things settled down, I went out to my car to bring in our things. Blitz and Dakota watched from the top of the stairs as I brought in my suitcase and camera bag. They wanted to know what I was doing.
Higbee watched from a distance. He wanted to know what was happening to his house.
Next, I brought in the dogs’ food. Higbee caught a whiff of it as I was coming up the stairs. Turns out, he’s protective of food.
Higbee began barking and charged at Blitz. Any food coming into the house was his.
Higbee was either very brave or very foolish. He weighed about 67 pounds. Blitz weighed about 100 pounds.
Higbee lunged, jaws open. Blitz caught him in midair, grabbed him by the neck and slammed him to the ground.
Higbee let out a startled yelp. Blitz kept a firm grip, holding him to the ground. I yelled at Blitz to let Higbee go.
It was over as quickly as it began.
Higbee retreated to a corner to lick his wounds, which turned out to be just his pride.
Blitz sat down looking unbothered.
Jill rushed out of the kitchen shouting, “What just happened?”
And I just shook my head. We were not off to a great start.
When I thought about getting together with Jill, I was concerned about whether her children would accept me. If they didn’t, the relationship didn’t stand a chance.
It never occurred to me that Higbee might present the same challenge. It should have.
The rest of the visit went fairly well. Jill and I got along. Higbee tolerated our presence—barely. The cat stayed out of sight. I found a site for the conference, and I headed home.
Jill and Higbee came to Maryland that summer and stayed for several weeks. Jill was a joy. Higbee didn’t love it. He was happy to be with Jill, but not so thrilled about being in a pack.
Of all the things that could challenge my relationship with Jill, the one thing I would never have considered—my ability to get along with a dog—was the one to be concerned about.
By the end of 2019, Jill and I decided I would move to her house in Illinois. Higbee’s house.
On a cold January evening in 2020, I arrived with Roxy, Blitz, Dakota, and a truck full of belongings. Higbee became a member of The Great Dog Pack—completely against his will.
Higbee was my biggest challenge after the move. Jill and I have different styles when it comes to raising dogs. I don’t agree with hers. She doesn’t agree with mine, and neither does Higbee. Neither of us was going to change.
It was a snowy winter. My dogs loved the snow, so we spent a lot of time outside playing in it. Higbee was slow to join in. Sometimes he played with Roxy or Dakota (never Blitz).
I tried to include Higbee. Most of the time he waited by the door until it was time to go in.
Whenever we play in the snow, I bring out my camera for the “obligatory dogs in the snow picture.” The best one gets posted on Facebook each day.
Higbee looked perpetually grumpy in the first group shots. I made a comment to that effect.
“What do you expect?” a friend replied. “You turned his house into The Brady Bunch.”
Higbee said I was no Mike Brady.
Next came the COVID-19 pandemic. We stockpiled dog food. Higbee sat in the corner and guarded it, growling at anyone who came close other than Jill.
We also started a “home school” photo project. I took pictures of Jill and the dogs doing classroom activities. The original idea was to create something unique Jill could send to her students to keep them connected to school while the pandemic forced them to shelter at home.
Higbee was not the most cooperative model. I was not very patient with him. I expected him to be like my dogs, who grew up being photographed. He wasn’t.
We clashed. It didn’t help our relationship. But I did eventually learn how to communicate with Higbee.
Jill was told Higbee was a German Shepherd/Akita mix with a little Collie as well. I didn’t see any of those breeds in him.
In May, I took him to the vet to get an answer. On Mother’s Day, we presented Jill with Higbee’s official DNA makeup.
He is a mix of Chow Chow and Chihuahua with a little Husky thrown in.
Don’t ask me how a Chow Chow and Chihuahua mated. I don’t know. But I know a little about the breeds so, without saying anything about Higbee, I asked ChatGPT to predict a personality for a dog with that genetic makeup.
“I don’t trust you. I don’t need you. I’m watching you. Stay away from my person. I understood exactly what you told me to do and have decided against it. Also, I’ve discovered a hole in the fence,” it said.
“More seriously, I’d expect a dog that might be very loyal but selective about affection; wary of unfamiliar people and possibly unfamiliar dogs; intelligent but stubborn; territorial; bold; alert and potentially vocal; and strongly attached to one or two people.”
That’s Higbee.
Higbee grudgingly accepted the pack’s presence in his life. He didn’t love it, but he tolerated it. I don’t believe he ever would have chosen it.
As difficult as that was for Higbee, it got worse. The pack grew and his life became a revolving door of German Shepherds.
In 2021, three joined the pack—Nala, Floki, and Maximus.
Higbee didn’t care for his adult housemates. He liked the puppies even less. He growled whenever they came around. He scared Floki so much that he peed on the floor.
To be fair, everything scared Floki that much. The peeing continued even after Floki grew larger than Higbee.
Ironically, Floki and Maximus loved Higbee in spite of the grumpiness. Whenever they saw him, they enthusiastically licked his face. Higbee growled with displeasure, but they didn’t stop. That still happens today.
Maximus also became very attached to Jill. He constantly pushed Higbee out of the way to get to her. That did not please Higbee.
Higbee and I reached détente. I don’t tell him what to do when Jill is around. He does what he’s asked when she’s not. It’s not ideal, but it works.
I often present my relationship with Jill as a heartwarming story about two friends who reconnected. If you asked Higbee, however, he would likely view it as a hostile takeover.
Prince Higbee hit the jackpot. He found his person, his house, his family, and his cats—a fairly satisfactory kingdom.
Then I showed up—with Blitz, Dakota, and Roxy.
Then came Nala, Floki, and Maximus.
He never asked for any of that. He would gladly give it back.
Sometimes that’s what happens in a blended family. Everyone makes sacrifices. If it works, the rewards outweigh the sacrifices.
It wasn’t working for Higbee.
He was the pack member who never wanted a pack. So the German Shepherds played together and Higbee existed on the periphery—glued to Jill’s side whenever she was home.
Then, one spring day, Nala and Floki were over for a visit. It was a nice day. I took them outside to burn off some of that German Shepherd energy.
School was in session, so Jill was at work. That meant Higbee was outside with us.
The German Shepherds settled into their routines. Dakota found a stick to chew. Nala sat at attention watching the neighbor’s yard. Floki and Maximus trotted around the yard antagonizing each other. One would inspect a spot and lift his leg to mark it. Then the other would race over, sniff, and pee right on top of where the first one went. It was their thing.
Higbee took care of his business, went to the back door, sat down and waited to go back in.
I decided to get a group picture of the German Shepherds. I stopped asking Higbee to participate a while ago. It wasn’t worth the fight.
I lined everybody up, told them to sit and backed up to take the picture.
Just before I pushed the shutter release, Higbee trotted up from behind me, placed himself front and center in the frame and puffed out his chest like the leader of the pack.
He was not invited. But he was welcome.
Prince Higbee had returned.
Higbee’s story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.
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Loved this story! We would always be here to dog sit if needed.
Can’t wait for the next story to post.