Goodbye, Dear Friend

Our home was visited by the pall of sadness this past month, as we lost our friend and companion. Moose was our dog, and what a great dog he was. We liberated him, several years ago, from the county Animal “pound”. He was in an outdoor cage, a young dog of about 7 or 8 months. He was leaning against the sides of the cage with a look of fear and anxiety. We took him home, and over time, he became part of our family.

Moose was a dog who easily communicated his feelings. Though a mixed breed, he was pure loyalty. Each day he sat at the edge of our driveway. We had a radio controlled collar on him so that if he violated the boundaries and tried to “take off”, he got a little shock. The collar made a beeping noise to let him know he was getting close to the “edge”, and eventually, this noise always caused him to back away from the boundary. But there he stood, at the edge of the driveway, our daily sentinel. His bark would warn us, “A strange car is coming, I’ll watch it for you”, or “The UPS man is coming, I’ll let you know if he gets too close”. Any one who dared to come to our house, whether friend or foe, was always first met by Moose. He was a watchdog of the first order.

But Moose had more character than just to bark at things, he had a warmth that melted your heart. At first, adamantly I might add, I stated he would be an “outdoor” dog. No dog hairs inside our house. Well, by the third year, he was firmly ensconced on a little bed in our family room. Each night brought about the same
series of events. If I went out to another room to watch a sports event on another TV, out came Moose to sit with me and keep me company. He would fall asleep on a day bed, but as soon as the TV would be turned off, up he jumped to move to the next room. There, sitting in a recliner would be my lovely better-half, and there Moose would lay his eyes upon just enough room by her legs, to find a snuggly place. Many nights I would
pass by that room, and there was Moose, his head hanging over the end of the recliner with his “mom” petting him gently, caressing his fur and providing simple love. He had a way of nudging and leaning against your leg, that always caused you to drop your hand down, without knowing it, and begin petting or scratching him.

Each morning, as I was first to get up, Moose would get up off of his “bed”, and yawn and stretch. We went outside together to greet the new day and retrieve the newspaper. Any squirrels or birds who dared approach our property were quickly warned to “get off”, with a “roor-roor-roor” of the mighty Moose. At night before I headed up to bed, we went outside, rain or snow, to allow Moose to re-scent the property to allow other dogs
to know they had no business being there. This was Moose’s home, and they had better know that. At dinner time, no matter how often we told him there would be no scraps, he knew better. Someone always provided a piece of fat or some mashed potato or a piece of bread with gravy, and Moose, his eyes glistening with excitement and his tail communicating his desire, waited for the plate to be put on the floor and his moment of joy to begin. Yes, he had dog food, but like many pets he preferred people food and who could blame him?

We regularly took him on walks down our cul-de-sac. It was a treat for him to be “off-collar” and walk with us. But dogs are dogs, and sometimes they do things we cannot predict. The fateful night, he was walking simply next to my wife and daughter when a truck came down the street, turned around and went back the way it came. Maybe Moose smelled a skunk, possum or cat, but for whatever reason, just as the truck was passing them, he jumped out in front of it. And he was hit. He crawled off into some tall grass to lay down. My wife, wanting to help him, tried to pet him. In his fear, he lashed out at her and bit her. By the time I came, he had calmed down somewhat and allowed us to put him in our van for an emergency trip to the veterinarian. He was banged up pretty good, with broken shoulder, back and internal bleeding. “Oh Moosie”, the vet said, “You sure are banged up”. It did not take much for me to know that nothing could be done. With kindness the vet sent him off to an eternal rest, where there would be no more pain or suffering. For him. For us, it would be several days of tears and grief. He was such a good dog. Such a friend. We always anticipated coming home to find him in the driveway, wagging his tail and waiting to “tell” us everything that happened. Now the driveway is silent. No sentinel standing watch. No one letting us know what happened when we were away.
No eyes, bright with anticipation, looking for a simple scratch or touch. We shall miss him. Goodbye, dear friend. Goodbye.