My family's had dogs since I was 6 or 7 and they've all been great. But last year, the first one that I would really call "my" dog died. Magnum was a big yellow lab that we picked as a puppy. I think my dad had certain ideas about him being a sober, calm companion to sit at his feet or something. True to his name, Magnum was not at all calm, sober, or anything reserved. He lived every minute of his life to the hilt. So, he became my dog, both because I was the only one who could handle him and because I think he just liked his life better when he was with me. He wouldn't exactly listen to me, but he had my personality and followed me on all kinds of hikes, horseback rides, truck rides, and everywhere. After I got married and moved, he stayed with mom and dad. I'm almost glad that I was not there when he died last spring. Almost. He basically just wore himself out over 12 years of going as hard as he could at everything, and he just kind of fell asleep one night. It was hard enough when my Dad called to tell me. If I'd have actually been there to find him I'm not sure that I'd be done crying even now. I miss that dog more than most people I've ever known.

We had a large (ha!) chihuahua that outlived every other dog we had. I was at college and had pretty much moved out when he died. Dad said Mom cried for 3 days. Whenever I went home it just felt like that dog was still there. When someone came to the door I swear I could hear him bark. He was such a fixture in the family.

Dad kept the bird dogs in a pen. Back then the thought was to keep the hunting dogs outside. It was pretty impersonal and we never got as close as the house pets.

Any dog now has to be both pet and hunter. Sure makes it hard when they go, though. They become as close or closer to us than our human family.

Thanks for sharing this moving story. It made me think back to when I was a little girl and my dad called to say he was bringing home a surprise after work. When he walked through the door with George the Zookeeper from the little zoo at our town park in tow, I was totally confused. Then the tiniest and cutest beagle/cocker spaniel mutt I had ever seen popped her head out of George's field jacket. She (along with her mom and the rest of the litter) had been abandoned in the park. She had clearly been mistreated and, like your Flap Jack, was scared of human touch and had a mean bark. We named her Lady and she became an instant constant companion to me and my four brothers, accompanying us on all of our weekend family fishing trips. We never were able to properly train her--she was disobedient to the end!--but she was a good pup at heart. Thanks for triggering a bunch of good memories.

I've lost 4 pets over 20 years. You hope and pray that they will go peacefully in their sleep. None of ours ever have. Degenerative arthritis, lost nerve endings, inability to eat or breathe, kidneys shut down, I've seen those.

I don't begrudge the vet the money. When they're clearly in pain, it just isn't right to make them continue suffering. One day Tang just couldn't get up for breakfast. All four of these old animals have gone peacefully to sleep in my arms.

I dread even now, thinking about ten, twelve years down the road when these two dogs get old.

UNO was really my grandmas dog, but as grandmas everywhere she was old, so me or any of my brothers taking him walkies was great both to her and to him, being a washup policedog that just couldnt hack being fired over he was special from the getgo. he never really liked kids and tried to bone the neighbours poodlebitch that allways escaped when in heat, and being a german shepherd that was a wiev to behold in itself:P funnily enough he was the one chained up but still they went on it for hours trying to get it on:P he lived to the ripe age of 17,5 human years and if u where less than 6 feet would come running to greet u with his forepaws planted solidly on your chest. that for a 10 year old kid means getting planted hard on your back/but like 5 times a day with him:P he bit me hard enough to implant his toothmarks like twice in his life withouth drawing blood on my calves, but only tought me to respect dogs doing that. i gave the wrong message and i got bit. and he was an animal but not an animal. he swam next to the boat when me and my little brother went rowing on our summer retreat and almost drowned and was sick for 2 weeks after, just cos he was gonna take care of us and protect us.. and even though this was when i was very young compared to now i still remember him and think of him fondly and havent had my own dog yet cos of him, cos i know in my heart that if i dont have the time to give MY dog as good a life overall as we did to uno back then then i dont wanna keep a dog just to satisfy MY need for companionship. some might think im weird in that and that hunting dogs are like livestock, but everyone that has owned a dog that knows what u r thinking and knows when u r scared and protects u when u r weak will tell u the same. not withouth my dog:)

As I sit here and write this my little black lab Tar has been putting her head on my knee to get some love. Losing her is something I have worried about ever since I got her. I have cried for every dog I have lost in my life and God help the man that would look down on me for that when it happened. My dogs don't live in kennels and are a part of the family mistake or not. I understand that other guys put them out and they have there way and I have mine. Dogs are everything I have found lacking in the human race. Love without question. Loyalty without cause. They can't lie cheat or steal. And generally are happiest when pleasing you. If I am upset she comes to me and gives comfort without asking. And even though the sound of a shotgun gets her more excited than anything in life she is afraid of thunderstorms and comes to me to comfort her when she is frightened. She will do more for me in one day of hunting or hunt tests than almost every human being I have known will do for me in a lifetime and she loves it and lives for it. Dogs are one of the only things on earth that will give more back than everything you put into them.
I have said this on this website before but I will say it again. I agree with what Gene Hill wrote "God made the world round so labradors wouldn't fall off." And that goes for all the other breeds as well.

mans. best. friend.

David,are you trying to make us cry? Great story. Thanks for sharing it.

My family just had a dog pss away this summer.It was my grandma's dalmation, Sadie. She was a great dog! I remember that when I was younger she would always go out, kill a groundhog, and bring it back to leave in the yard. When she got older she got arthritis and couldn't walk or stand. One day my aunt's dog attacked one of the donkeys. The vet had to come an sew up the donkeys lip. My grandparents decided to have Sadie put down while the vet was there (after all she couldn't even stand). After the vet was done with the donkey we said our goodbyes to Saddie. The whole time we were with her she wagged. We all went up to the house when she was being put down. My aunt said that they carried Sadie to the hole and gave her the shot. She was wagging the whole time.

Loyalty Works Both Ways
By T.W. Davidson

Nearly 15 years ago I was living near Akron, Ohio on a few very pretty acres with my then-wife while I attended school and she worked at a near-by hospital. She was about 6 1/2 months pregnant with our soon-to-be first and only child, a bright and beautiful girl who is now a 14-year old freshman. My wife planned on taking maternity leave for about 9 months after our daughter was born. I wanted our baby and my wife to feel safe and comfortable when I wasn't around. And I wanted a dog that would grow up with my daughter, who would always protect her and love her.

So I put out a lot of inquiries and drove out to a lot of sheep farms and cattle ranches all around rural Ohio and I looked at a lot of dogs. I finally chose a Blue Heeler (otherwise known as an Australian Cattle Dog) who was only about 8 weeks old. He was the runt of a litter of some half a dozen squirming little puppies. I liked him because although he was the tiniest of them all, he made damn sure he got his fair share of his momma's milk, and he didn't let any of the other puppies bully him or push him around. I liked that. He was feisty. The little runt had grit.

Two months later my daughter was born. By this time Austin was house-broken. When we brought Anna home, he instantly fell deeply in love with her and became devoutly protective of her. As she learned to crawl, he would guard her and hover near her constantly. If she was headed for danger, he would gently herd her back to safety. I once saw him take a corner of her diaper (while she was wearing it) in his teeth and very gently drag her back to where she would be safe.

Anna and Austin played together constantly. They were best friends. I once saw infant and puppy share a tidbit of puppy chow. At lunch and dinner he was velcroed to her leg beneath the table; she always shared her meal with him--he never objected--even when we told her not to. He never once bit her or nipped at her, even if she accidentally hurt him. He slept in her room every night.

Austin marched by our side for many thousands of miles of hikes in Ohio for two years and, later, for three years in almost ineffably beautiful rural Wisconsin north and west of Madison. Whenever I or the family went into the woods, Austin went with me, regardless of the weather or the temperature--and in our first winter in Wisconsin, we saw something like 33 consecutive days where the temperature never rose above 0. It didn't matter. If the sun was shining and the wind was very mild, we all bundled up and went. In the summers, every weekend was spent hiking in the parks.

As my daughter grew, so did Austin. Where she went, he went, her ever faithful companion. When she started preschool, he went with me while she was gone during the day, but he was always eager and impatient to get back to her long before she came home.

We moved to NE Texas 11 years ago. We lived on a few acres out in the country. One winter day some logging poachers attempted to steal the standing timber from our land. I was alone at home working on a project when I heard Austin barking and growling in a fierce "Danger's Here, Get Out Here Now, Boss" voice. The trespassers kicked him or hit him with a rock or stick before I could out there, but Austin did not retreat. He did not run off and hide even though he was bleeding from a head wound. The trespassers were lucky to live. With some 2nd Amendment encouragement from me, but with Austin also worrying and frightening them with his undaunted darting attacks, they left and never came back. I've often wondered what would have happened if Austin had not been there; if he had not alerted me; if my wife and daughter had been there alone without him; if he had not stayed loyal and true to me, even when wounded, even when he was bleeding.

About 6 or 7 years ago my wife and I divorced. Although by this time our daughter was about 8 and was fairly independent at home, and although Austin now slept wherever he wanted in the house (usually near my daughter's bedroom, if not in it because she kept her door closed), he had naturally transitioned to being with me, and going where I went (particularly on hikes or backpacking journeys or explorations out in the woods), as a matter of course. He and I went everywhere together. I even took him to my office on a regular basis. Everyone there, including my clients (who always seemed to relax and become much more at ease when he was around), thought of him as "the office dog."

Out of sheer meanness and spite, my ex, during the divorce proceedings, claimed possession of Austin, even though by this point everyone who knew us, as well as Anna herself, knew full well that Austin had become, and clearly was, "my" dog. The divorce was difficult. Not seeing my daughter and not being with her everyday was searingly painful. Not having my dog with me was searingly painful, too.

About 2 1/2 years ago my ex, who has mellowed out a great deal in the years since our divorce, called me one day. She said that Austin was getting far along in years--and of course I saw this anew every time I went over to her house to pick up my daughter, because I could see the years and the milage piling up on my old friend, even though he was always overjoyed to see me, and always wanted to play and get in the pickup and go with me when I left. My ex said that she had talked things over with our daughter. They had come to the mutual conclusion and agreement that Austin's last few years should be with me. She said he seemed happier and healthier when I was around than when he was with them. This was not an apology from my ex, but it was as close to being one as I would ever get. I hung up the phone and drove to my ex's house right away and picked up Austin and took him home with me.

About a year ago, on a beautiful fall day, I talked Anna into going on a hike with me at a very scenic state park. Anna insisted on bringing one of her girlfriends. I thought Austin should go, too, so I picked him up and put him in the bed of the pickup, and I saw memories flash in his eyes and his tail wiggle and wag as he remembered glorious hikes and hunting trips and backpacking journeys and woods explorations of our past. The years dropped away. His aches were forgotten. He became young again.

Unfortunately, about halfway into our planned 4-mile hike, and even though we were just moseying about, taking our time, Austin slowed down, began panting very hard, and shortly thereafter ran out of coal. He collapsed on the trail. I gave the girls our drinking bottles and told them to run to the lake and bring back cold water. I attempted to comfort Austin, but he was listless. He refused to drink. We dumped cold water all over him and rubbed it on his head and back and shoulders to cool him down, but he probably wasn't all that hot, since the day was only maybe a fairly mild 80 degrees. Austin had become an old man, and that was a problem that none of us could cure. I knew this would be his last hike.

I had the girls very gently help me pick up Austin and sling him over my shoulders. He did not struggle or fight us at all. The girls positioned themselves on each side of me. One gently grasped his collar; the other gently grasped his tail. I held his front legs in my left hand and his rear legs in my right. Austin licked at me as I carried him for 2 miles back to our truck.

About 4 months ago I came home one day and noticed that Austin was in the same position he had been in that morning when I left. He slept most of the time by this point, but when I went and checked on him, I could see that something had broken deep inside him and that he had become paralyzed about halfway down his spine. I could also see that he was in pain and was suffering.

I did what everybody does--I called the vet, called my friends who are experts on dogs, called anyone I thought might be able to help. But they all knew, and of course I had always known: Austin was dying, and the only real question was what I was going to do about it, what kind of loyalty was I going to give him for all the years of loyalty he had given me.

It was now about 10:30 at night. I made sure Austin had water--he ignored it--and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. He looked at me and licked my hand and I cried. He tried to comfort me even though he was the one who was really dying. Sobbing like a baby, barely able to see, I got a shovel from the garage and went out into the fields on my property to a particular shady spot that Austin had always preferred, a place where he had always "kept watch" on the property while also dozing and maybe dreaming of our journeys together, and of journeys with all of my family, when we were young. The ground was hard from lack of rain and many weeks of blistering summer heat, but I dug and dug and dug and dug with my shovel until I had a very deep, wide hole.

I went back to the garage. Austin was semi-conscious on his blanket. He was having trouble breathing. I went into the house and retrieved the hypo the vet had given me on our last trip to see him weeks earlier--"There's only enough in it for one of you," he had told me after seeing my face. I put the hypo in my pocket, got a fresh new bone from the fridge, and went out to the garage. Austin showed no interest in the bone, but he looked at me again and licked my hand again and I think he knew and was grateful for it. He did not struggle as I picked him up. He felt impossibly heavy even though he only weighed maybe 40 lbs. The 100-yard journey to the hole I had dug for him in his favorite shady spot was one of the hardest and longest of my life.

I climbed down into the hole and sat in it and held my old dog and my best friend in my arms. He licked the tears from my face as I petted him and talked to him and thanked him for always loving my daughter and her mother and for loving me and for protecting us through all the years. He did not flinch when I slipped the needle in. He was licking my face when his heart stopped. I longed for a second hypo.

Some time later I somehow found the strength to climb out of the hole and bury my old friend. I put a big rock directly over his grave, and put logs and other rocks all over and around the grave in order to keep scavengers away. I have not visited his grave; it is too painful.

I've not yet gotten another dog--though some of my friends keep finding excuses to "loan" their dogs to me for extended visits, which I don't object to and actually find pretty nice. There's one dog I particularly like--"T-Bone"--who absolutely loves spending time on my little farmette. Sometimes he gets to hang out at the office, too. I am thinking of asking his owner if I can have visitation rights, and I don't think she'll mind at all.

The terrible thing about our pets is that we outlive them. They love us and we love them. Austin was loyal to my daughter, to her mother, and to me. Each of us, in our separate ways, were loyal to him all the way to the end. Loyalty worked both ways.

We were all so very lucky.

Dammit T.W. im sobbing like a little girl here.. your damn fault!

I remember my first dog, Tiny. She was a mutt- cockerspanial/who knows what. I got her when I was 5 and had to be put down while I was in College. I was home and my parents said they had to put her down because she was so sick and with her age-nothing could be done. I could not take her myself, they had to do it. I remember holding her, and telling her "thank you for being a wonderful dog, I was so sorry, and that I loved her" I cried for quite some time the evening after they left with her. Later on in life while my wife and son were with me attending a D.U. banquet my son's name was drawn from his youth membership registration. He had an option for either a new 20ga shotgun or a lab pup. He walked past the gun, and grabbed the pup. I tried to tell him to put her down, and grab the gun. I lost the battle with him and my wife. I had a rush of memories hit me with my past dog, and didn't want my son to ever feel the sorrow of loosing a dog. That would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life so far. Mille as we named her has been the best friend to my son, my wife and I. Always happy, very silly acting, sleeps with our son to this day, as she has since a pup. I could not imagine not having her with us. She is naughty sometime, very bullheaded, but that is what makes her unique and special to us. I never spent alot of time with training, but she is a pretty good upland bird dog by genetics is suppose. I realize now that along with the sorrow of loosing, there is the possibility of alot more wonderful memories to be had with owning a dog. I dread the day when she passes, probably when he is away in college, but I will tell him - the pain will pass, but make it a point to always remember the good times, and the best friend we all had. I don't know who quoted the say "If dogs don't go to heaven when they die, when I die I want to go where they go", and I agree with it. I couldn't imagine that God wouldn't have dogs in heaven.

Thanks for the memories.

Gang,

Some amazing, truly heartfelt responses here. I can only say, thank goodness for dogs. They make us better people. -D

Great story TW.

I know what it's like to put your own dog to sleep. I laid next to my hole with Buck for 6 hours. Suddenly I looked up and there was a buck deer standing unusally close staring at me crying. I knew then it was time. Damn.

T.W Davidson: that is the saddest story I have ever read in my life. i can't imagine life without my family's dogs. In human years one is 11 and the other is 14.

It's hard reading all these stories through watery eyes. I think I'll take Brownie for an extra long walk today.

Ever wonder what heaven is like? I do. It's hard to say what the background will be...the place I grew up? A favorite vacation spot? Who knows - but one thing will be for sure: I'll be surrounded by every dog I've ever had in my life. That's my idea of heaven.