It was September 12, 2002. A year and a day after the tragedy of the Twin Towers, I experienced a personal tragedy that shook me no less than that of the terrorists’ actions. A year and a day after 9-11, my best friend and companion lost her own war against bone marrow cancer. My 11-year-old Rottweiler, Banchi (Banchi Von Merrivale was her AKC name, and yes, I named her when I was a young girl trying to imitate the “von” in lots of Rottie names), had to be put down because her bones were so riddled with cancer they resembled honeycombs and she could no longer stand. I was devastated. I locked myself in my dorm room at Hofstra University in Hempstead, NY. I wrote all my teachers emails stating I wouldn't be attending class any time soon. I was heartbroken and reasonably so. Banchi had become the love of my life. We spent time together like I would spend time with a sister, if I had one. Since I was an only child, my animals became to me what a sibling would be to someone else. Her loss shook me to the core, reduced me to tears and depression and shattered me into small, unrecognizable pieces.
It wasn't until a year later that I began to consider opening my heart to another dog. Of course, it had to be a Rottweiler! Banchi was amazing. She even protected me from my own parents. When they’d yell at me, she’d jump at them and get in the way so I could run free and escape punishment. We played night and day before I went away to school, and when I returned home on weekends or holidays or summer breaks. I would set up obstacle courses in the yard and run her through them. We would sit outside in the front of the house or walk the block. Any time spent with her was cherished. And so, I began a search for a new best friend and protector. At the time, I wasn’t all that savvy about rescue groups and shelters (this is something I am ashamed to admit now that I am an advocate for adoption as the only option) so I looked up breeders online. I, like so many, was under the impression that in order to get a breed like a Rottweiler and to have him or her be safe as a family member, you had to go to a reputable breeder. I was not aware that training and dedication and love was what made a dog amazing. I thought bloodlines were the main factor. Boy, did I have something else coming to me (it would later be known that Ursa, had she been a dog up for adoption at a shelter, would have all the red flags any dog could have like no kids, no cats, strong prey drive, etc. and would probably have ended up euthanized).
Any time my parents would call me, I’d ask “Are you calling to talk about getting a puppy?” They’d usually get frustrated and hang up. We already had a dog at home, Isis, a spunky, small mixed-breed. But my heart yearned for another Rottie. There was a void in my heart that only a black and tan bundle resembling a bear cub could fill. One day I was home from school and noticed a newspaper clipping on my dad’s desk. It was for Rottweiler breeders in our area. SCORE! I had won. They didn't admit it for a while after that, and my dad just said if I was going to go out and get a dog, he didn't want me to make any mistakes. He was just helping to steer me in the right direction. Deep down, I know he loved Rotties as much as I did, if not more. And I think he yearned for another one, too. That became obvious in the years to follow.
My father advised me to go to some local AKC or breed shows and check out the dogs. My boyfriend at the time and I went to one that was about an hour away. We walked around and scoped out the dogs and I soon discovered I didn't want an American Rottweiler. They were too small! Banchi was tall and skinny, not like a normal Rottie. But her size put these dogs to shame! In my eyes, they were TOO SMALL (for all of you small dog lovers out there you must think I am nuts to say any Rottie could be a small dog, haha). I began my quest to find a European Rottie. I was also intrigued by Schutzund, as was my Father, and soon added that to my list of “requirements” for my new pup.
I don’t know where I found Ursa’s breeder online, but somehow I did. Maybe fate brought her to me. I found a website and an email address of a man who stated he was a Rottweiler breeder, but it ended up his uncle was the breeder. He was in NJ, but his uncle was in Hauppauge - my home town! I got in touch with his uncle, Wallace Lopez, and inquired about his dogs. They were of European bloodlines, and the litter on its way was born of Schutzund show dogs. This was perfect! All the pieces seemed to fit into place one at a time.
It was October 2003. A year and a month after losing Banchi, I was on my way to meet a litter of pups and possibly claim one as my own. The litter was just 5 days old when we first laid eyes on them. They were so tiny! Little black fur balls in a box, snuggling near each other. I wanted a female dog, as we had only had females to date. Another myth we fell for at the time, that female dogs were easier and better (again, something Ursa would later prove to be very inaccurate). I was paying $200 more than everyone else to have first pick in the litter. But the pups were too small to choose just yet. I did have my eye on one though... the biggest female pup. She just lay curled up in the box as if she was resting up and fueling up so she could keep the world on its toes for the rest of her life.
We walked into the back to meet the parents. Dad, Bruno, was tremendous! He was stocky and just gorgeous. Everything you’d want a male Rottie to be. His head was so wide and his color was a dark mahogany. Mom, Bea, was just as beautiful. She was also a very red in color (her markings) and she was pretty big, too. They were stunning.
We visited every few weeks or so to watch the pups grow and choose one of our own. The big puppy in the litter, at about five weeks, would jump out of the puppy pool and explore. She would pull on the furniture, and wreak havoc on Wally’s living room. The small pup, the one that was considered “show” quality, was quiet and sweet. The third female pup was whiny and wanted attention constantly. A real snuggler. Wally would tell us how the small pup would be the best example of the breed. Her coloring, her head piece, her body proportion. If we were paying top dollar, we should consider which pup everyone else would want. But, that big pup, she kept my attention. She was dark, with “smudge” (when black runs into the tan markings on the paws). I really liked dark Rottweilers. The blacker the better. And, as we know, I liked big dogs! I was leaning towards the big girl from day one... and 5 weeks later, I still had my eye on her. She was wiggly and hard to hold. She wanted to be on her own exploring the world around her. But, something about her drew me in.
At around 8 weeks of age, the pups would be ready to go to their new homes. We only had a few more weeks to decide.
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