Otto was the first Bassa dog I met.
He was a large, grey-brindled Spanish Mastiff. He was born in 2010 and came to Mon La Bassa as a half-grown puppy. Otto was always very calm and very present.
He lived outside and slept in the pink house where all the dog food was kept. Every morning and evening, he would do his rounds, greeting the children and parents as they came and went from school. He often went for walks by himself in the forest whenever he felt like it.
Otto had his very best friend, Federico — or "Fete," as everyone called him. Otto and Fete were almost always together. They slept side by side in the pink house, went for walks together, and enjoyed lying in the sun together. Otto sometimes also lived with the donkeys, who were almost as tall as he was. He liked being around them, making sure everything was in order.
Otto was always so calm — he was just there for you, with his big yellow eyes.
We gave him the nickname "Ottito," because he was so big. Every time you spoke to him and called him "Ottito," he would start wagging his little stump of a tail.
The reason Otto was at Mon La Bassa was that he had been born with a tail that was too short. His breeders thought they wouldn’t be able to sell him, so they abandoned him in a forest. Someone found him and brought him to Mon La Bassa.
One thing Otto didn’t like was eating — at least not during his last few years. People often asked us if something was wrong with him or if he was okay. We bought all kinds of expensive dog food and cheap grilled sausages.
He only ate enough to survive, but he was still a very, very happy dog.
When I met Otto, he was already eight years old.
One day, when Otto was eleven, we could tell that the end was near.
We told everyone that if they wanted to say goodbye to Otto, they should come that day, because he was dying.
He lay outside on a blanket with another blanket covering his body. Everyone came by to say their goodbyes to him.
After everyone had left, I went up to say my proper goodbye.
Otto had moved closer to the forest and was lying there.
I walked over and petted him one last time and said, "Goodbye, Ottito."
He lifted his head and looked at me one last time with his deep yellow eyes and wagged his little stump of a tail once.
He got up and took one final little walk through his forest, and the next morning we found him lying dead beside the sheepfold at Mon La Bassa.
Otto had a good, long life and was deeply loved by many.
Mon La Bassa will probably never be quite the same without him.
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