Bongo Jessen was a great Dane, but that was his nationality, not his breed. He passed away today of cancer. He will be missed terribly by all of us on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. He was only six years old.
I remember when Bongo and I first met in the summer of 2007 staying with friends in Denmark. Since I was an early riser and he was a dog, we agreed that he needed one more walk than he usually got very early in the morning.
It was halfway through our walk when I realized that I knew no Danish dog commands and he did not understand English. But it didn’t really seem to matter. He stuck with me and happily trotted along my side, regardless of where I went. And we both made it back safely, even though I got lost a few times in the back paths of the park on our first walk. He knew the way home, even though my ambling down unfamiliar paths probably gave him some angst.
By the end of the week, we were best buds. Wherever I went, he trotted off after me and would stare at me with those sad eyes from the hallway when I was in the living room where he was not allowed. Even though I never told Helle, I smuggled him some leftovers after each dinner. It was our little secret.
I’ll miss you Bongo.