Like all German Shepherd puppies, Skater grew so quickly. By the time he was six months old, we knew we had a "star", much like his mother. In fact, he was the spitting image of Babbitt but with his own masculine stamp of nobility. With almost no training, he quickly began to win Best Puppy at many Specialty shows, the first of which was under Kathy Potter who remembers him to this day. I was thrilled with his success in the show ring and the promise of so much more to come. Again, as I did with his dam, I saw the consummate show dog. I missed the real dog almost entirely; those beautiful warm brown eyes, always lit with humor, wisdom and pure happiness. He asked for nothing except my love. This was the beginning of many regrets for me, regrets which I wouldn't realize until many years later.
From about the age of three months, Skater had always been kenneled with his sire, Cajun. They got along extremely well and played like two happy kids for hours on end. When Skater was about seven months old, he ran headlong into one end of his kennel run and injured one of his front legs, enough to require sutures. The last thing I remember telling Andy, when he picked Skater up from the vet and brought him home, was that he needed to be sure and kennel Skater alone for the night as he would be sore from the injury and repair. We had a quiet and uneventful evening.
When I went out at 6:00 AM the next morning to begin my feeding and kennel chores, I first noticed that Skater was, as always, kenneled with Cajun and figured that Andy had put him back in his usual run before he left for work that morning. I wanted to see how his leg was doing so went up to check on him before I began doing anything else. He seemed happy, his usual self, and bounded up to greet me. Cajun, on the other hand, did not seem so happy. I gave him a quick head-rub and was shocked when my hand came away covered with blood. Then I noticed it - the entire tip of Cajun's ear was gone and the torn ear was bleeding quite heavily. As I bent to look more closely, I noticed the ear tip laying on the ground. It was cold and had obviously been there awhile. I took Cajun in the house, cleaned his ear and drove him to the vet where he, too, was sutured.
I was livid. When I got home, I put Cajun in the solid-weld "visiting girls" kennel, ALONE, and went in to call Andy and tell him what happened. Apparently, when he had brought Skater home the evening before, he had automatically put him back in his own kennel with his father. As the two boys normally played very rambunctiously, I figured that, at some point, Cajun had inadvertently hit Skater in the leg and, reacting in pain, Skater had retaliated by biting his dad's ear off. Neither dog was to blame. We, the humans, had failed to ensure their safety in the most rudimentary way. It was an accident that never should have happened. It was also the only time in his life that Skater acted aggressively toward another dog; he and Cajun were kennelmates for many more years without even so much as a hard look between them. Again, I missed the lesson as I still was too blind to see and learn; it took great lengths to anger Skater. He was a patient, reasonable and good-hearted dog who bore no ill will toward anyone or anything. It was human error that had, in this instance, brought out the worst in him and forced him to cause harm in order to defend himself. I hate that I put him in that position.
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