Cowboy, Our Greatest Family Dog

This could be the best shot we have of Cowboy.  His colors were terrific.  We took pride in his size and his breed: he was half Great Dane and half Doberman Pinscher.  Tammy Sleigh, a woman I worked with at Steamboat Fried Chicken, was giving away pups from her dog's litter.  The year was 1976.  I loved that dog.  But like most things that I loved, Tom seemed to get a foot in the door.  Though I felt that the dog was mine, he was most loyal to my brother, Tom.  Tom hiked the local mountains in the Duarte foothills more than any of us at home, maybe more than anyone else I knew.  When Tom stepped into the backyard with the dog's chain, the sound of the chain would make Cowboy go crazy.  He would leap repeatedly in excitement, occasionally springing as high as Tom's shoulders, and this for a dog that was half Great Dane and half Doberman Pinscher.  

Cowboy also loved my sister Sally.  Sally would stop by the house after work to visit her family, and while there she would play and tease Cowboy.  She would step to the screen and the glass door, and Cowboy would be overcome by her cooing and affectionate tones and high-pitched expressions of love and roll into wild howling and yelping.  He would roll, leap and dart on and around the patio in reply, reciprocating her amorous tones.  I have never seen a human being exert that kind of power over a dog.  

This is Cowboy as a puppy.  The year was 1976.  We got him from Tammy Sleigh, a very sweet, generous, kind young woman who had a terrific sense of humor.  She lived in Duarte on Bashor Street.  I had the privilege of working with her at Steamboat Fried Chicken for a while.  Jack Douzadjian was the owner. He was a master chef.  His great wife Anna Douzadjian was the cashier, server, terrific public relations, and a trusted business partner. Jack too was great with customers. People got lit up by his energy and his smile and eagerness to serve. Thinking about him now, I wished I were still working with him.

My brother Tom was gracious enough and eager too to write up a story about an epic battle he'd witnessed between Cowboy and a black pit bull out at the San Gabriel Riverbed.  Here it is--by Tom Walgenbach:

It was 1983, Cowboy was 7 years old and thick as a brick. I was walking him down the riverbed path on the westside of the river just past the trainbridge. We came upon two young kids who were walking a big black pitbull. The pitbull didn't like Cowboy and before I knew it the two dogs began fighting . Cowboy would slam the dog on its back and start ripping into the dogs top of his head and the pit ull had a stranglehold on cowboy's throat. It was a life or death struggle and Cowboy couldn't shake the grip the dog had on him so Cowboy went into a death roll and both dogs kept rolling down the dike until they hit the bottom of the dike, then and only then did the pitbull let go. Cowboy would run up the dike first and the pitbull would run after him. When they got to the top of the dike the two dogs would go at it again. It was round two, but very similar to round one. The pitbull had another grip on Cowboys's throat and the only way Cowboy could shake him off was to go into a deathroll, and down to the bottom of the dike again, and only then did the pitbull let go of Cowboy's thick muscular neck. Cowboy ran up to the top of the dike again and the pitbull followed. For the third time the pitbull attacked Cowboy, but this time he clamped down on Cowboy's left hind leg and began chomping his femur bone into mush, Cowboy went into shock and just sat there not knowing what to do. I then kick started cowboy by kicking him in the rear to snap him out of it. Cowboy reared up with such ferocity and came down with fangs flaring and ready to embed them deep into the front face of the pitbull. The last ditch spearhead attack by Cowboy bewildered the pitbull and they both went into a tumble down the dike for the third time. Cowboy came limping up and the pitbulls face looked like it went threw a shredder. I stopped the fight and Cowboy walked home a champion. Undefeated. Cowboys heart was made of gold. He was the greatest dog of all time forever and ever. When Cowboy died in January 1990 he could barely walk, but he was happy, and he loved being alive with our family. He was the fastest dog, and the strongest dog of any dog that went up against him, and thats the truth, no brag, just fact.