Fisch and I went outside today to say good bye to a group of garden club women. From my tractor, I told him to sit until after they had driven off. He listened and then we headed off to the front field to pick up some pallets. Fisch ran ahead. As I turned the corner, I noticed him jumping along the bar ditch on the other side of the fence, the highway side…it was odd because he doesn’t go on to the highway when he’s with me. It was an odd jump too, and I thought “Oh no!” but assured myself it was the tall grass he was jumping through. It wasn’t the tall grass; he was trying to get back to me.

He saw me as he rounded the corner to our entrance, and he jumped his odd jump all the harder. I watched him from the tractor and he watched me as he took one more courageous jump but couldn’t make it and flailed in the air as if he had been shot. He landed in the puddle at the entrance, not moving. I jumped off the tractor and ran to him, saying “no, no, no” all the way. I don’t know why we always try to refuse to believe that some things can actually happen.

I lifted him out of the water and laid him next to me on our dirt road. He looked scared as he looked at me, and I called his name all the louder. Then I knew, with his breathing and eyes that it was almost over. I just told him he was a good boy, over and over, and called his name. He tried so much harder to breath. The final moment I yelled for him, and sobbed. Muddy tears hit his face. The eyes dilated, the breathing slowed then stopped.

I might not have ever moved. I heard footsteps and saw shoes down next to me. I thought they were Brad’s, but they were the neighbors. The kids across the way were looking at me…I had to stop. We loaded him up and took him to the office. I brought him to show Brad and tell him the news. We buried him in the woods, close to where we buried Red Dog two Christmas’ ago.

Why do I share this with the world? How can I share all of the good memories and not the final one that happened today?

To my friends who bought him for me, thank you. He meant so much, and I realize that all too deeply now. I miss him, and can’t shake the memory of his first day in the office, his scared face at the Christmas party when you gave him to me, the walks through the woods, the swimming out to the fishing boat so not to be left on shore, the night he was bit by a copperhead and he slept next to me on the floor, or every night that he barked at the coyotes, the way his whole body shook like a big grey worm whenever anybody showed up, or the wake up nose when I slept too long, which included this morning.

That’s life.