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<\/p>\nDash<\/p>\n
I lost a friend. My walking companion, my workmate, my backseat driver for the past nine years: I lost Dash. He was a big yellow Labrador, a dog with a smile and a nudge. He was powerful, but most gentle, especially around small children.<\/p>\n
Three weeks ago Dash, Buddy (our Collie mix) and I went on a hike at Salt Fork Lake. We \u201cgot lost\u201d then \u201cgot found,\u201d my favorite kind of walk. Up hills and down, through mud and into brambles, the three of us powering through on a surprisingly hot fall day. Everyone was strong, though when this old man needed a break, Dash and Buddy were happy to wait.<\/p>\n
It happened so fast. Dash lost so much muscle, but his belly grew bigger. The diagnosis was nothing but cancer and awfulness, future months of sickness, no recovery possible. Dash had already lost twenty pounds, and was looking at us, wondering why this was happening, snuggling, looking for a reassuring rub and word. We couldn\u2019t put him through all of that, for nothing. Jenn and I did our best for Dash.<\/p>\n
It’s our time in the morning now \u2013 6 am, before Jenn and Buddy get up. Dash should wander down the hall, a smile on his face, sleepy eyes, and flop on the floor by my desk. We should have our morning \u201ctalk,\u201d about what the day will bring, where we could walk, what else was in store. I vacuumed the carpet yesterday, but there\u2019s still blonde hair around. And there\u2019s a hole where Dash should be.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m a sixty-one year old man, and you\u2019d think that hole wouldn\u2019t be so large now. I mean there was Princess, Louie 1, Louie 2, Rory, Paige, and Sierra: lots of friends over the years. But Dash was special.<\/p>\n
Jenn and I were just dating when she called and said we were going to go \u201clook at\u201d a dog. Some friends of hers had a farm down in Somerset, a dog had wandered onto their property and settled in with their two Labs. They had searched for the owner with no luck.<\/p>\n
I got in Jenn\u2019s car: there was a bowl, a collar, a leash in the back seat. We weren\u2019t looking at a dog; we were getting a dog. When we arrived at the farm, two chocolate Labs came out to greet us \u2013 \u201cPoop\u201d and \u201cStink.\u201d In between them, a skinny yellow Lab, the \u201cDash\u201d between Poop and Stink. The name stuck, appropriate for a track coach\u2019s dog.<\/p>\n
Dash and Sierra went through our courtship, they moved into our house, and they watched two major construction projects and a wedding. Dash even got a \u201chall walk\u201d at the high school. Dave, our contractor, pegged Dash. Even as a young dog, Dave said Dash had \u201can old soul.\u201d He was a polite, appropriate dog: unless there was a \u201cnew\u201d dog around. Then Dash would quickly become a \u201chumper\u201d. Sierra, a rescue Cockapoo wouldn\u2019t take any crap from Dash: she was the \u201calpha\u201d in the house. And when Buddy came into our lives, he looked to Dash to teach him right and wrong.<\/p>\n
Buddy was a scared little guy. Dash helped Buddy learn that every stranger wasn\u2019t an enemy, and even though Buddy would do all the barking, Dash was the one who went to the front door to see who was there. Buddy waited to see what Dash would do, then would make his move. When Buddy was being treated for lymphoma, Dash gently helped him to recover. Buddy went to Dash\u2019s spot on the couch last night: he knows that his friend is gone. He\u2019s a sad little guy.<\/p>\n
So are we.<\/p>\n
I know it will get better. And though Jenn says no now, I know we will have more dogs. Buddy is lonely, he needs more than just us as his friends. But it will be a little while, and even then, it still won\u2019t be Dash.<\/p>\n
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