Everything seemed to go against him. He was white, small (lap dog size) and also had those effeminate long wisps of hair. How could anyone ever serialize him? As a male, of course, but more generally as a dog? Male: a sturdy, short word that should stand for robust, an impressive appearance that naturally commands respect. He was none of those things and was soon nicknamed Mop. As a puppy, someone on the moor even called him 'an enlightened spirit'. He therefore had such a wonderful hopping action in which he threw his front legs forward like a trained horse. The joy always radiated from it. Soon we would find out that he had a character that no one could ignore. Dog nor man. He was afraid of nothing and no one. The larger the dog, the greater the challenge of playing with it. If things went too rough, the rules of the game were explained again. We rarely had to protect him. He clearly stood his ground and didn't squeak easily. Countless are the times we came home with a black dog because he had once again been chronically in the mouth of a shepherd while his back was covered in dust. He always lay on the bottom, with his long hair pinned to the ground under his front legs. But never give up.

He taught us that his strength mainly lay in the fact that he knew very precisely what he did and did not want or what he needed. He did not use the usual methods such as barking or begging, but somehow there was always contact. There were therefore few commands and communication all the more. It seemed as if he also understood and understood everything we said. In the end you couldn't think of a synonym for walking or he was already dancing. Quite difficult when you were just meeting, or when someone accidentally said that he is going outside. There were words for that, too. When you said you were going to go shopping, that tiny tail immediately dropped back down and you were ignored yourself. But rarely did he fail to find out what he wanted. Whether there was a thorn in his hair or a turd got stuck in it, he managed to make it clear pretty quickly in his own special way. If he was tired from walking, he would tap your calves with his nose and the pace had to be slowed down a bit. All small things that have developed over the years into an extensive form of communication and contact. An interaction that could only come about through mutual love. He could also be very willful. If he had been fobbed off with a short walk around the block or had he not received any attention for too long, he would just sneak out and only come back when it suited him. But the other way around, when due to circumstances it was possible to walk alone for a long time with a break on a fishing stool every few hundred meters, he would return each time to the right to wait together until the other person could continue. Why not take a small dog seriously?

He has left many with the feeling that he only gave love, while in retrospect it can be concluded that he also wound everyone around his fingers. He lived exactly the way he wanted to and yet he was far from spoiled. He simply understood the art of making others love him.

You just couldn't do otherwise.