Before we had poodles, we had Cleo. Cleopatra was a tan Great Dane and she and her famous cousin Marmaduke had a lot in common. I was a baby when Cleo lived with us, and I know her only from the family stories and the images of the two of us on the fading family films. I am a tiny well dressed child with big brown eyes, and Cleo’s head was larger than I was. We putter around the yard together, she letting me haul myself up, and supporting me as I practiced my steps firmly gripping her. One famous film segment shows Cleo busily gnawing on a huge ham bone, as tiny Shawn toddles unsteadily up to her, and steals it from her. She could have opened her jaws and swallowed me whole, but Cleo just watched her bone get carried off and glanced up to the camera with a resigned expression.
Come to think of it, the family should probably not been filming that encounter, they should have be racing to save me from the jaws of death! Good thing Cleo thought through the logical consequences!
My father remembers his first date with my mother. He rang the bell, and mom came to the door with Cleo at her side. Cleo stood on her hind legs, put her front paws on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. This evening at dinner he pondered, “I wonder what she thought of me?” and mom shrugged and remarked, “Well, she let you in, didn’t she?” She did indeed, and he’s been around for almost fifty years!
Cleo didn’t steal food from the counters like OJ does, but that didn’t mean she was perfect. She loved dish towels. She’d sneak into the kitchen, nab the towel off the counter and disappear down to the basement with it. When mom ran out of towels, she’d stop at Cleo’s bed on the way to the laundry and gather up a whole nest full of dish towels.
Unlike OJ, who is devoted to home and wouldn’t think of exploring the world, Cleo was seized with wanderlust every now and then. She liked to inspect the garbage cans all down the back alley. One day she came home with a prize. She was called and when they went out to see where she was, she was prancing down the alley toward home wearing antlers. A second glance showed that she had the skull in her mouth, and the antlers rose up on either side of her head. She was justifiably proud of herself for scoring such an amazing prize, and she tossed her head and whipped her tail in joy as the family just about collapsed from the sight. She’s lucky no one called the Conservation officer when they saw her heading down the alley! They never did figure out where those antlers had come from.
Cleo has been gone for forty years, but her memory lives on like all good dogs. My brother Wayne was inspired to get his own Great Dane, but his wasn’t quite as smart as Cleo. I’ll tell his story another time.
Shawn L. Bird 
Cleo the Dane August 9, 2010
Tags: dog stories, Great Dane
Before we had poodles, we had Cleo. Cleopatra was a tan Great Dane and she and her famous cousin Marmaduke had a lot in common. I was a baby when Cleo lived with us, and I know her only from the family stories and the images of the two of us on the fading family films. I am a tiny well dressed child with big brown eyes, and Cleo’s head was larger than I was. We putter around the yard together, she letting me haul myself up, and supporting me as I practiced my steps firmly gripping her. One famous film segment shows Cleo busily gnawing on a huge ham bone, as tiny Shawn toddles unsteadily up to her, and steals it from her. She could have opened her jaws and swallowed me whole, but Cleo just watched her bone get carried off and glanced up to the camera with a resigned expression.
Come to think of it, the family should probably not been filming that encounter, they should have be racing to save me from the jaws of death! Good thing Cleo thought through the logical consequences!
My father remembers his first date with my mother. He rang the bell, and mom came to the door with Cleo at her side. Cleo stood on her hind legs, put her front paws on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. This evening at dinner he pondered, “I wonder what she thought of me?” and mom shrugged and remarked, “Well, she let you in, didn’t she?” She did indeed, and he’s been around for almost fifty years!
Cleo didn’t steal food from the counters like OJ does, but that didn’t mean she was perfect. She loved dish towels. She’d sneak into the kitchen, nab the towel off the counter and disappear down to the basement with it. When mom ran out of towels, she’d stop at Cleo’s bed on the way to the laundry and gather up a whole nest full of dish towels.
Unlike OJ, who is devoted to home and wouldn’t think of exploring the world, Cleo was seized with wanderlust every now and then. She liked to inspect the garbage cans all down the back alley. One day she came home with a prize. She was called and when they went out to see where she was, she was prancing down the alley toward home wearing antlers. A second glance showed that she had the skull in her mouth, and the antlers rose up on either side of her head. She was justifiably proud of herself for scoring such an amazing prize, and she tossed her head and whipped her tail in joy as the family just about collapsed from the sight. She’s lucky no one called the Conservation officer when they saw her heading down the alley! They never did figure out where those antlers had come from.
Cleo has been gone for forty years, but her memory lives on like all good dogs. My brother Wayne was inspired to get his own Great Dane, but his wasn’t quite as smart as Cleo. I’ll tell his story another time.
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