The Day My Neighbor’s Rottweiler Stopped Barking at Me

My former side-door neighbor had a Rottweiler named Hector. Not many people visited my neighbor because of Hector. The big fellow had an intimidating face, a powerful body, and a bark that could probably wake the dead. I never imagined Hector and I would become friends.

In fact, I was convinced he wanted to eat me. Every time I stepped outside my house, Hector would look at me and start barking. And he wouldn’t stop. The moment he heard my door open, he was ready. His kennel was in the front yard, and whenever I appeared, Hector would rush toward the fence, put his enormous paws on it and bark at me as if I had personally ruined his day.

Sometimes his drool would actually fly through the air. I could see the anger in his eyes. At least, that’s what I thought I saw. To me, Hector was an untamed beast. A dark, demon with a thick coat waiting patiently for an opportunity to sink his teeth into my flesh. I kept my distance.

Then came a Friday that changed everything. I stepped outside my house while munching on blueberries. Hector saw me. He started barking. Of course. I stared at him for a while, hoping he would eventually get tired. He didn’t. I lost my patience. Without thinking, I threw a few blueberries at him.

Hector stopped. He looked at the blueberries. Then he ate them. He licked his lips. I stood there wondering what on earth had just happened. Hector put his front paws back on the fence. But this time, he didn’t bark. He simply stared at me. I stared back. Then I chickened out and went inside.

The next morning, I opened my door to collect the newspaper. Something felt strange. There was no barking. I looked toward the fence. Hector was there with his paws resting on it. Silent. I grabbed the newspaper and hurried back inside. Maybe he was sick. Maybe the blueberries had done something terrible to him. But Hector wasn’t sick. He had simply stopped barking at me.

From that day onward, whenever I stepped outside, he would stand at the fence and stare. No barking. No flying drool. Just Hector watching me. I gradually became brave enough to walk closer to the fence. He didn’t react.

One afternoon, I returned home early from work and spotted Hector waiting by the fence. I washed up, opened the refrigerator and saw a container of blueberries. I smiled. I grabbed a handful and stepped outside. Hector was waiting.

I walked toward him and tossed a few blueberries into his yard. He gobbled them down and came back to the fence. This time, we were standing almost face-to-face. I had a few blueberries left in my hand. I don’t know what possessed me, but I held them out. Hector ate them directly from my hand.

I could feel his warm breath and wet tongue against my palm. My hand was covered in drool. It wasn’t exactly the glamorous beginning to a friendship I had imagined. But it was a beginning. I reached over and touched his head. Hector didn’t move. I rubbed his crumpled forehead. He loved it.

That was the day Hector and I became friends.

The dog I once believed was plotting my murder soon became one of my favorite companions. I started visiting my neighbor’s front yard and spending time with him. I never imagined that this intimidating Rottweiler would eventually place his head on my lap and fall asleep while I rubbed his neck. Every day after work, I would spend some time with Hector.

He loved putting his paws on my shoulders when he wanted his head massage. And when he was tired, he’d climb onto my lap, put his head down and fall asleep while I patted him. The same dog whose bark had once terrified me was now sleeping peacefully on my lap. All because of a few blueberries.

Then one day, my neighbor, Mr. D’Souza, told me they were moving to another house. I was genuinely upset. I knew I wouldn’t see Hector every day anymore. The Saturday before they moved, I spent almost the entire day with him. I knew it would be one of the last times we’d sit together like that.

After they moved, I continued visiting them on weekends. Hector would get excited whenever he saw me. Apparently, I had become the famous “Blueberry Man.” We’d play for a while, and eventually he’d settle down on my lap for his usual massage. Our friendship had become a routine. A beautiful, ordinary routine.

Then last week, I went to visit my neighbors. I expected to see Hector in the front yard. He wasn’t there. I rang the doorbell. Mr. D’Souza opened the door. He looked disheveled. I smiled and asked, “Where’s Hector?” His voice cracked.

“Hector passed away on Thursday.” I froze. He told me Hector had died from a severe case of canine parvovirus. Hector was only 3 years old. I don’t cry easily. But that day, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I stood there trying to process the fact that the big dog who had once frightened me, barked at me and eventually slept on my lap was gone.

I didn’t own Hector. He wasn’t my dog. But somehow, he had become a small and beautiful part of my life. I came home that day with a strange emptiness. I kept thinking about the first time I threw those blueberries at him. Maybe Hector wasn’t angry with me all those years. Maybe he was simply afraid. Maybe I was too.

Two creatures standing on opposite sides of a fence, each misunderstanding the other. It took a handful of blueberries to change that.

Yesterday, while looking through a photo album, I came across a photograph of Hector and me. Mr. D’Souza had taken it while Hector was sleeping peacefully on my lap. I looked at that photograph for a long time. And I knew I had to tell Hector’s story.

So here it is. I miss you, Hector. I miss your heavy paws, your crumpled head, your sleepy eyes and, strangely enough, even your baritone bark. Wherever you are, I hope you remember the Blueberry Man. And I hope there are plenty of blueberries waiting for you.

Thank you for taking the time to read. It means a lot.

Ansel

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This post was previously published on medium.com.