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When I was 7 or 8, and my brother was about 9, we got a dog. Scott had been lobbying hard for one, and our new furry family member was definitely his dog, but Hausen loved indiscriminately.
He was one of those sweetheart dogs who was kind to everyone… unless you were threatening one of his pack. Mom said he would never hurt a fly, and that’s probably true.
He had a lot of nicknames: Bear, Roo, Rooer Bear. And if enough time had passed since he’d last done something destructive (there were a number of those), Saint Hausen.
If there is an afterlife, meeting up with Hausen is one of the things I’m looking forward to most.
