She was a rescue from the pound - maybe 2 years old, not long had a litter and so thrilled to meet me. Leaping up to hug you was an endearing habit which I could never break her of - it took arthritis to stop her. Bonnie was the obvious name - "the child that's born on the Sabbath day is bonnie, blithe, good and gay". She was a lovely Rottweiler, wonderful temperament and nice conformation. She was definitely bonnie, blithe and gay - good, well, she was good according to her lights, and certainly an easy dog to live with.
Don't get me wrong, she had her quirks. She was top dog and kept the others in their place, a busy-body who absolutely HAD to know what was going on. This meant racing from the front porch to the back one several times a day or whenever something might be happening. She would intermittently get gunky ears that would need cleaning and annointing. She tore a cruciate ligament and had to be crated for a couple of weeks - and I have photos of my stepson in the crate with her.
Bonnie was loyal and loving. She smiled and wriggled her whole body with joy. She could also look guilty for absolutely no reason at all. She adored her special people and would happily sit on their laps or keep nudging them for cuddles.
If you sang to her ("she's a bon, she's a bon, she's a bon, yeah, yeah, yeah" - to the tune of she's a mod), she would grin and wiggle. Overnight visitors would be checked up on and kept warm by her, given half a chance.
Our Bonnie is gone, and we miss her.
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