Windsor McArthur

Hero

King

Doyen of Senior Dogs

I dedicate this page to my best friend, my companion, my Chief of Security, Guardian of my Life and to his many friends who need him and rely upon him one way or another. He is faithful, well-mannered, sophisticated and very learned.
If there ever has been a match made in Heaven between Animal Kingdom and Humans, then this has to be it!

Less than three months after he came to me from a kennel for rescued Boxers, where he had languished for almost one year, my own life hung in a precarious balance between a weak flicker and dark darkness. His still emaciated, weak body radiated to me all the strength and life force he could muster; his soft muzzle touched me gently to let me know that I was not going to succumb lonely and in anguish. His beautiful, soulful amber eyes talked to me about happy times to come.

Moreover, when HIS time of trial arrived in the guise of a horrible bronchitis contracted on the streets, in the pound and kennel, he realized that his sufferings posed a great burden on me endangering my survival. I explained to him the consequences of my possible demise - kennel at best or, worse, back to death row in the pound. Windsor thought about it carefully. Thereafter, he did not hesitate to quarantine himself voluntarily to the dark, cold and damp outside whenever one of his coughing and spitting spells hit. He sat outside, shivering and miserable, but steadfastly refusing to come inside until he knew that he would not cough anymore. When it happened in the middle of the night behind doors that prevented him from going outside on his own, he voluntarily stuck his head into plastic grocery bags to eliminate what impeded his breathing.

No, he is not an angel and I am not exaggerating.

He is only a dog. Behold a King on his Throne
And a King.

Yet, he is my best friend, my companion, Guardian of my Life, King of the Seas, Lord of Fort McArthur, Protector of Widows and Orphans and, by his own volition, Chief of my Security.
Moreover and most importantly, he is a Boxer.

His name is Windsor. He is as proud and noble as his name.

His rescuer and trusted friend speaks for the King and all Boxers when she announces:
" As some of you already know, we are a spirited and entertaining breed. We are NOT canines, we are highly evolved spirits trapped in silly yet endearing dog suits. We also are dedicated, loving, and amusing. Simply put, and in all modesty of course, we are perfect companions for the "enlightened" human breed ."

Yeah, right.
Perfect companions for humans and their Subway Sandwiches!
In one of his rare weak moments, Windsor confided in me that he 'liberated' a Subway Sandwich from the rescue lady on their way from the pound to 'Hotel Hope'. That Subway Sandwich, he pointed out, was the best in his life almost as good as getting out of death row.

No, this is not about sandwiches and rescue angels either. It is also not about typing Boxers.

Click here if you want to know how they do it.

This is about one unique Boxer who has given of himself to humans all of his life and now

desperately needs the help of humans, many humans to live a life free of pain and to be able to continue his work for older dogs in need of help.

Once upon a time, when he still was a puppy and then as a young Boxer man, he had a kind and loving family: Father, mother, kids, motorcycles and boats, you name it. He loved them all, especially the kids and the mother, of course, because she gave him food. And food makes a direct connection between the stomach and love and love and Windsor.

His dad made him a good canine citizen. He knew not to come into the house with muddy paws without invitation, not to run and bark like crazy (though it was very hard to remember this at all times), not to chase after balls, sticks, the neighbor's cat and birds or chew the family furniture, to sit, to stay, not to beg at the table and all the other things humans expect a good canine citizen to do. In exchange, he got to run after the little kids on their small motorcycles, to sleep with them in their beds or just to wrestle with them in cool green grass. It was Heaven on Earth.

Then suddenly, just as Little Chicken feared, the sky was falling. The family took Windsor to an outing at the lake. While he was attempting to dig a hole to drain the lake, they piled into the car and disappeared.
The family spit out Windsor.
The family donated Windsor to the streets. "They left me there to die", he told me. "I do not know why."
I could not find my way home.
They broke my heart.
I loved them so much.                                                        Read here about my darkest hours.

I fought stray dogs and cats for pieces of trash. Finally, I ended
up in a small cell in dog prison. A merciful human spared my life twice
until a kind lady appeared like an angel out of thin air and took me in her car to “Hotel Hope”.


                                                             Click here to read how I got saved.

"Hotel Hope", doesn't that sound good, wholesome and
healthy? Oh well, click here for excerpts from the inside story about life in the 'Hotel'.

Because of my age, I was not exactly a top hit with adopters who came to the Boxer rescue kennel. I had plenty of spare time.
Therefore, I decided to cheer up all the other Boxers who were in the same sad situation. For starters, I created the infamous Boxer Chorale (neighbors are still talk about it) to entertain us on Friday nights. Then I organized support groups for depressed Boxers. I also became the official referee for disputes between Boxers. In short, I am wise beyond my years, smart and learned. Other Boxers recognize that immediately and respect me.

What about the humans? That's a different story.
Humans came, looked and went away mumbling something about old dogs. Days came and went, then weeks, then months. The rescue kennel was still there and so was I, Windsor, the faithful Boxer. Still waiting for my family to come and get me. It had to be a mistake. No way, they would just throw me out on the streets to die.

Hey, you wouldn’t throw your 45 year old dad away just because his
temples show a little gray, would you? After all, he is entitled to his
mid-life crisis, isn’t he?

It was hot and the days were long when I came to the Hotel, then the days turned short and cold, then long and hot again. I was still languishing in Hotel Hope.

Then, one day a man came in a dirty, old truck. The people at the Hotel told me to be nice to him if I wanted a home of my own. At first, I was not too sure about him and his dirty truck. In turn, he did not appear to care for me much either. He said my tail was way too long!
Yet, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and investigated the truck. He appeared amused. He opened he door. I jumped in. It felt good. I jumped on the back seat. I wanted him to take me home. He did not. What a bummer!

Then, after many days and nights, the man appeared again. He put me into a car. The car was also dirty. He took me 'home'. What a shock, what an adjustment! You see home is a... Boat.

No self respecting Boxer I know lives on a boat. But I decided to try it and, lo and behold, I LOVED it. In no time I became the social butterfly of the neighborhood ...hummm...port. My human friend and I are going on long walks everyday, we ride around in the car a lot (it is still dirty), we chase squirrels in the park, scare rugs on four paws, play with children and go on outings in the wilderness. I even found a beautiful Boxer girl. She also lives on a boat. Sometimes she comes by in a little wiggly thing and barks really load. I guess she wants me to talk to her. I don't want to. She lives on a really tiny boat. Mine is much bigger!

One day, my house suddenly made a very load noise and started to shake. I was worried. But my human friend was not. He just sat there and ate a sandwich. Our house wiggled and shook like in an earthquake for a long time. When it stopped we met some of our friends 'there'. I do not know where 'there' is. But there were a lot of other humans and many, many dogs. They all had little wiggly things to use for rides.

There was food and lots of fun with humans and other dogs. The humans squirted water and the dogs barked at each other. There was even one cat. I hate cats. The cat did not want to go into the water. The humans put her into it anyway. Yeeeeeeppppeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh.

When night fell, the humans played beautiful music. They were so happy many of them sang loudly. I wanted to sing. I did.

I found a new home, happiness, safety, new friends and love. But I cannot forget those old Boxer friends left behind in Hotel Hope. Many of them indeed have very little hope and not much to look forward to. I decided to give back to the 'community' by helping old Boxers less fortunate than I.

Hence was born OSAAT, the "One Senior At A Time" program. Peter (he is my human friend) and I pick one deserving senior out of the Boxer Rescue kennel to take her/him out to parks, meadows, woods, the beach, pet stores and other fun places. We make them exercise, socialize with people and other dogs. Some of them have been sitting on concrete for years. They are so happy to feel moist, cool earth and green grass under their paws. Then we all get really happy. Sometimes we then go to a place where humans with long sticks hit the grass with the sticks. We quickly jump out of or car and all run across the beautiful green grass from one side to the other. Then we quickly jump back in to our car and drive away. The other humans wave their sticks at us and scream very loud. It is so much fun.

Click here to meet some of my old friends.

Sometimes we even take one of them home for the weekend so that they can live in a house and with a family. We show them love and give them new hope. I teach them social skills, manners and how to become good canine citizens again. They get happy and many of them find a new home right away. Seven did so far. But there are more still waiting to be rescued..

Unfortunately, I have now met my very own mid-life crisis.
I suddenly find myself unable to continue my good deeds because my once powerful body is betraying me.

You see, I was demonstrating to this old Boxer lady how to use boarding steps on our boat. She is very opinionated and strong willed. But she let me do a few demo runs. Then, impatient and pushy, she decided to try it while I was still on my way up. She knocked me straight off the steps. I fell and injured my knee. I hurt so much. I cried in pain. Ever since, my leg and knee hurt whenever I use them..

My human friend says I need an operation on my cruciate ligament in my left knee. It is very expensive.
check back frequently for updates to my story.

***