By Christopher Harper
Syd, a Great Pyrenees dog, joined our family eight years ago, just before Thanksgiving.
Like many Great Pyrenees, he had been given to a rescue society because he was too big at more than 100 pounds, slobbered a lot, shed his long, white hair all over the place, and barked like a basso profundo in an opera. A practiced escape artist, he’d also jumped out of the second-floor window of his owner’s house, breaking a leg in the process.
When we arrived at the halfway house for the National Great Pyrenees Rescue in central Pennsylvania, he jumped into the back of our car without a worry. He’d found his forever home.
A genuinely sweet dog at home, he didn’t play well with others. Great Pyrenees protect other sheepdogs and sheep from predators like wolves. Syd protected our family from invaders, including lunging at a local veterinarian who made house calls.
Often, he would sleep just outside our bedroom to make sure no one messed with the Harper family.
On walks, he was constantly sniffing the ground and surveying the landscape, ensuring every animal around wasn’t messing with HIS turf!
Syd loved the snow. He’d rub his hose in the snow and drop down on his side and make Pyr snow angels.
He loved playing with his fellow rescue Pyr, Sparky, and later Lucien, a Husky. They’d romp around the yard and run through the hallways in our home in an almost never-ending bout of roughhousing
Syd often sat outside and barked at almost everything that walked by or drove by. It wasn’t an annoying bark, but one that transfixed virtually everyone. People would stop to listen to the bark that rose from the depth of his lungs. I once found a mother and young son mesmerized by the sound.
He hated motorcycles and postal trucks. The sound differed from ordinary traffic, and he’d tear after both when he had a chance.
A few months ago, he had trouble walking. By last Tuesday, he couldn’t get up in the morning.
I took him outside and sat with him, but I knew it was time to say goodbye. Almost at that instant, Syd heard a mail truck. He paused, hobbled to his feet, and barked at the retreating vehicle. He’d sent it on its way once again.
At age 12, Syd, our wonderful friend and protector, went out in style just a little while after his final bark.
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