I looked through the ads in the local paper and saw an ad for trained Rottweilers. It sounded tempting, so I called. Little did I know that her training extended only to eating and sleeping!

The dog was a female. She'd been turned in as a stray, very thin and suffering from fly strike (Rottweilers get crusty sores if bitten by flies). Once she'd been in the rescue for a month, she was healthy enough to be spayed. During the spaying process, they determined that she was pregnant. A sad case. When I got her, in July, 1995, she was estimated to be 3-5 years old. I named her "Traveler".

We both went through a socialization process. I hadn't been a "mom" in over 15 years, and it took a while for us to find a rhythm, but it's worked out very well. She turned out to be a very mellow, easygoing dog. She's shy but polite with strangers, effusive with friends--in her vet's words, the world's nicest Rottweiler.

Buoyed by my success in melding Traveler's lifestyle into mine, I began to consider getting a second dog. I was concerned about her ability to defend me out on the road given her mild manner. Even before I got Traveler, I'd decided to take a long trip across the country. In fact, a large part of the basis for my naming her "Traveler" was the knowledge that we'd be hitting the road together. The remainder was my admiration for Robert E. Lee and the knowledge that his favorite horse had been named Traveler.

Since he was a Rottweiler and since he'd been turned in for being dog-aggressive, I had to go through a long application and approval process. I was asked about whether I had other animals, whether I'd ever turned in an animal to a pound or rescue, whether I rented or owned, whether I had a yard, whether that yard was fenced or not, the height of the fence, etc.

Once I'd passed the initial approval process, Traveler and I had to meet with a dog behaviorist, who discussed Champ's personality with me and engineered an introduction between him and Traveler. He tried to bully her at first, but once she stood up to him, he backed down, and all was well. I adopted him in February, 1996. From the beginning, it was apparent that he was no Champ, so I renamed him Stonewall. That name was based in part on my admiration for Stonewall Jackson and in part as a nod to the Stonewall Inn riots, but largely because he was (and is) an incredibly headstrong dog. For those of you considering getting a Rottweiler, by the way, stubbornness is a breed characteristic.

Stonewall was off to a slow start. Mind you, I got him to travel around the country with, yet in the 30-mile drive home from the shelter, he vomited three times. On the behaviorist's recommendation, I started going to class with him the day after I got him. He vomited another two times on the way to class. Once there, he reared up and snarled at the cute little four-month-old puppies who made up the remainder of the beginning obedience class. Mortifying.

With lots of patience and work, Stonewall's come around a lot. He's thrilled to see anyone and everyone. Never met a person he didn't like. He goes nuts when he sees another animal, though. He gets along with many, but if he's challenged, he still goes on the attack, and if in the presence of unneutered male dogs (he's neutered), forget about it. He'll go for the throat.

When the dogs are out, Stonewall's the one who catches people's attention. Dog lovers love him. Those afraid of dogs are really intimidated by his effusiveness, though, and are more likely to be attracted to Traveler's quiet dignity. Quite a combination.

Well, in late September, he DID trap the wildest one. he contacted me and I came over to his garage to inspect her. She was about three months old and, rather than the solid grey I'd expected, turned out to be tabby--greyish with dark brown spot-stripes, sable paws and a vanilla tummy covered in long, coarse fur. Once cornered, she turned out to be submissive--let him slip his gloved hand into the cage without biting. He gave me some food and litter and a healthy dose of advice and sent me home with her.

I pulled a second chair up to the one in my home office and placed the cage on it. The Monsters were fascinated by her. As she cowered and growled, they circled the cage. Traveler whimpered. Stonewall snapped and growled. I banished them. Once they were banished and the bedroom door was closed, I opened her cage door. First I tried a gloved hand. THAT didn't bother her, so I picked her up and put her in my lap. She lay perfectly quietly, just trembling occasionally. I held her and petted her as I surfed (OK, I admit it...I didn't give her my undivided attention). She was so calm that eventually I put her down and let her explore. She did fine with two exceptions. First, she became alarmed when I tried to pick her up to put her back in to her cage after maybe an hour of freedom. She was SO alarmed that she bit me several times. One of those bites actually punctured my thumb nail at the base. As I cursed cats, I looked down to see a scarlet bead emerging. Thankfully for both of us, it was the only time she ever bit me hard enough to draw blood. Second, being feral, she was completely unhousebroken, and managed to (are you sitting down?) relieve herself on my keyboard as I was trying to scoop her up to pop her into her box.

I had a hard time with the name; I called her Lizard for a while, because her spot-stripes are sort of lizardlike, but that name drew wrinkled noses even from my friends. I tried Diablo out, but it was too plain. Eventually I settled (reluctantly) on Otter. She enjoys laying on her back, legs spread, snaking across the carpet. Her paws curl forward and her tummy spreads wide, she looks playfully up at me and she sort of resembles those aquatic mammals.

It took a while for her to become comfortable with me and even longer for her to become comfortable with the dogs (especially ol' Stonewall), but now she's very happy and healthy (yes, she's spayed). She is a 100% indoor cat, and although she enjoys sitting in front of the window, she's never attempted to go outside; I guess she prefers her three squares and the couch to catch-as-catch-can and cold, rainy nights. Now we roughhouse a lot--I pick her up, hold her at arm's length, then lay her on her back in the crook of my arm like a baby--and she purrs continuously. She coyly approaches Stonewall and flicks her tail over his snout as an invitation to...well, as an invitation; one he readily accepts and which she seems to enjoy. The lion and the lamb have found peace and happiness right here in the home of their slightly eccentric mom.