"All the Virtues of Man without his Vices"

Paladin has lost his dog, his long time friend and companion, Angus.  Reading his post, it made me think on my Jack, gone these 17 years.

That's my first picture of him, back around Christmastime, 1981.  He was so small that when I took him on a walk that was too long and he got completely tuckered out, I put him in the pocket of my winter coat and carried him home.

But soon he was getting bigger, and "helping" me shovel snow.

By the next winter, he was full grown.  He still loved snow, especially when I threw snowballs he could chase.

He, too, was my long time friend and companion.  He was the smartest dog I've ever seen: he would open doors, repeatedly.  We had some friends with a dog lady-friend, and we would dog sit for each other when one of us went on vacation.  Once when he was at their house, they put him (and their dogs) in the basement before leaving for work.  Jack opened the door, and all the dogs got out into the upstairs.  The next day, their dogs went into the basement, and Jack went into the garage, with the door locked.  When they came back, Jack was nowhere to be seen.  They started calling him, and up popped his head.

Behind the driver's seat of their other car.  He'd opened the car door and got in.  I guess he figured that he wouldn't get left behind if he was in the car.

But all good things must come to an end, and unlike Paladin, I wasn't home when it was Jack's time.  He died alone in a kennel, while I was away on vacation.  It was in the days before cell phones were cheap, and the people at the kennel couldn't reach me.  He deserved better, and to this day this memory makes me sad.

Lord Byron said it best, about his Newfie, Botswain:

When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe And storied urns record who rest below: When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been: But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth-- Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: While Man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive Heaven.

Oh Man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on--it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a Friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew but one,--and here he lies.

He opens with what is perhaps the most famous words ever penned about Man's Best Friend:

Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.

God speed, Angus.  I know full well - to mingled joy and sadness - the pain your master is going through.    I hope that time will ease the pain, leaving the joy undimmed.  I fear that it will not.