In 2016, I moved to a small townhouse in Aberdeen to start my post-child-raising life. Roxy and Blitz came with me. We kept to ourselves and really didn’t get to know the neighbors.
A couple years after I moved in, I walked out of my front door and there was a man moving in two doors down. I said hello and introduced myself. He looked me in the eye and said very seriously, “You’re the man with the dog.”
He knew some people in the neighborhood and, apparently, that’s who I was to them—the man with the dog.
I liked that.
One of the things I’ve noticed about this stage of my life is the constant redefining of who I am. It always seems to be connected with loss—something I once was but am not anymore, not necessarily because I wanted it that way.
So when Blitz died, I felt a sense of emptiness. I wondered who I was now that I was no longer the man with the dog. I still had Roxy and Dakota and I loved them both. But they were in Aberdeen too, and they weren’t who my neighbor was talking about.
Blitz had a presence. He commanded attention and respect wherever he went.
At the dog park, he was the king. In public, people gave him a wide berth. Once we were at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowd. In front of us, unbeknownst to me, were two women who didn’t like dogs. When they turned around and saw Blitz, they screamed hysterically and ran off through the crowd pushing people out of the way like offensive linemen on a football field. Blitz just looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
Another night, Blitz accompanied me to an impound lot outside of Washington, DC. Alex’s car had been impounded (that’s a story for another day) and I needed to retrieve it.
The lot had a small building with an attendant inside. I approached the window, where he could only see me from the chest up. He had a bit of an attitude and asked for the car’s registration.
“It’s in the glove compartment,” I said. “Where is the car?”
“I can’t give you the keys until the bill is paid.”
He was not pleased.
He grumbled as he headed to the door on the side of the building. From the outside, I also walked to the door. When the attendant stepped outside, he froze. He hadn’t seen Blitz sitting quietly at my side.
The attendant looked at me and didn’t say a word.
“I was not coming to a place like this in the middle of the night alone,” I said.
We were in Joliet photographing holiday lights. Blitz often accompanied me on photo outings. I was never concerned, no matter where I was, if Blitz was with me.
Blitz was 12-years-old at the time. It turned out to be our last outing together. I set up my tripod on the sidewalk and looked through the camera at the lights. Blitz sat at attention behind me. He always had my back.
A homeless man stepped out into the street, headed in our direction. Blitz started to growl. I turned around to see what was up and Blitz let out one bark. The man stopped in his tracks, waved at Blitz and said in his most polite voice, “I’m not coming anywhere near him.” Then he turned around and walked away.
Blitz looked up at me, satisfied, as if to say, “Still got it.”
We don’t realize how much of who we are is tied to who we walk beside—until they’re gone.
Blitz elevated me from some old guy living out his golden years in an Aberdeen townhouse to “the man with the dog.”
I miss that.
I’ve had other dogs since. I love them all.
But that version of me—the man who walked beside Blitz—is something I won’t have again.
These are the stories that shaped the pack. They still matter. If you’d like to see how these stories come together, you can learn more about The Great Dog Pack here.
Want to see more pictures of the pack. There’s a free gallery on my website here.
Another wonderful story Mitch.
I can say Blitz was one of a kind. If he let you in his “Pack” he was your always making sure “NO” other dogs messed with his pack.
The first time I met Blitz. Wow, a heart of Gold. My Zoey 1/2 the size new from the beginning, he was KING.
We miss you dearly buddy but know up there …. You’re in Charge.
You don’t have to tell him he’s in charge. He knows. 🙂
I have to tell you over the years I have thoroughly enjoyed all the pictures of your dogs but specially Blitz and Roxy absolutely rock stars. I don’t know if you remember me or not, you used to do work for management Alliance, and the Iasiu group. I still thoroughly enjoy every time you post pictures of the dogs in the obligatory snow pictures
I remember you, Mary Carol. I miss working with the Management Alliance crew. Those were fun times.
Thanks for following along all these years.