Requiem for a Friend

What can you say about the best dog ever?

Raven came to us on Hallowe'en, 2013. She was the tiniest puppy, a bundle of energy and love. My wife brought her home from a visit to the pet store; it was the last time she was allowed to enter a pet store, because every time she did, another dog found its way into our home.

She had been born on a native reserve and had not had a home prior to us bringing her into our family. We were the only family she ever knew. And she fit right in with our other dog, Harley, a Shi-tzu whose previous owner happened to be allergic to his fur. Raven and our young son Tanner immediately bonded; Garrett was still a baby, less than a year old. Neither of them can remember a time in their lives without Raven there. For that matter, my wife and I can hardly remember a time when she wasn't a part of our lives.

Being so small, my wife was convinced that Raven would make a fine lap dog like a Shi-tzu. I tried to warn her, because we knew Raven was part Lab, which meant she wasn't going to be a small dog. But she did end up a lap dog, anyway. Even at fifty pounds and more than three feet long, she was still my wife's lap dog. Oops...

As she grew, Raven never lost her incredible affection for her family. She was always there, seeking attention and 'lovins' whenever one of us had a free hand. And she never lacked for lovins. Nor did she stint in giving it back. Curled up on the bed at our feet, or laying down with the kids while they watched TV, she was an endless bundle of love. Tanner was so excited the day he got to take her out on a walk solo for the first time. It was such a beautiful bonding moment for them, one he will never forget.

When Harley finally passed, Raven was about five years old, and she spent a week pining on the back porch waiting for her friend to come back. But of course, he wasn't coming back...and she fell into a depression that lasted up until we adopted a new puppy, Dexter the beagle (he's my profile pic to the right). They hit it off incredibly well, and she was overjoyed at having a new little brother.

When we moved from Ontario to Prince Edward Island, she was the most patient dog in the world during that long drive, sitting in the back seat of my car in her kennel. When we stopped for a break or to camp for the night, she was as frisky and fun-loving as ever, but always stayed close by Tanner and I. When we got here, she immediately took to the joys of farm life and twenty acres to run around, still playing with Dexter.

But being out on the farm instead of in town brought us some new surprises. Raven learned that the family now included chickens, and the garden I was carefully tending was sacrosanct and needed to be protected. And so, she became a fierce and loyal guardian for the farm. This played out one day when we heard Dexter barking frantically in the treeline. We saw nothing at first except bushes shaking, and we heard something squealing and screeching while Raven came into view bounding around and growling and snarling. We soon realized she was actually fighting something! At first, I had the wild idea that she'd gone nuts and attacked Dexter, but he was off to the side barking and cheering her on.

A few minutes later, she came trotting toward us with something in her mouth. Something almost Dexter's size. Something with a tail. A ringed tail. Yes, she had fought and killed a raccoon, and she was returning home a triumphant warrior. She pranced right by me with her ears alert, then deposited the dead raccoon right on our front porch like a conquering hero's trophy. I was not quite ready for that display of martial prowess at that point, and our oldest boy, Ashton, had to take the trophy away and dispose of it.

Raven loved being on the farm; the freedom of being off-leash at night, able to wander around and guard the barn and the chickens every evening, letting the foxes and coyotes know that this was not hunting territory for them. She was pretty successful, although we had a couple of unfortunate incidents. But those weren't Raven's fault; she was an excellent guard dog for the farm.

It was in the last couple of months that we knew something was up; she was struggling to keep up on her walks, and soon we cut her down to half the usual distance. Her appetite wasn't very good, either. We took her to the vet, and the initial diagnosis was arthritis, which isn't uncommon in senior dogs. We got some medication to help control it, but it didn't help very much. Finally, a couple of days ago, she simply stopped eating. I couldn't even give her a treat or wet food, which she would normally gulp down with gusto.

Yesterday, August 23rd, she got to see Dexter once again; he lives with our older son now. They came over for a visit to help us with some plumbing issues (he's much handier than I am), and Dexter came along. Then in the evening, as I was getting ready to go to bed after a long and exhausting week of baking for our business, I got a mental nudge to go downstairs and see where Raven was and what she was doing.

She was on the dining room floor by my wife's chair, where she often lay whether my wife was sitting there or not. But now, she wasn't moving. Her breathing was labored, and she didn't even lift her head when I called her. An arrow hit me right in the stomach, and I went upstairs and told Tanner he needed to come down right away. He did so, and started petting her and hugging her head. We both knew somehow that this was the end. When her bladder released and she peed all over the floor, I went up and called my wife and Garrett down as well; they needed to be there for this. Holly, our new chocolate lab, came as well. Together, we petted our beloved puppy-girl and told her how much we loved her until at last, she left us. Surrounded by her family, she knew it was okay to go.

Tanner is still heartbroken, of course. I came up the stairs tonight and looked at the spot in my office where she always lay by my chair when everyone else was getting to bed. She'll never lay there again. I told my wife that I'd have to return to the hospital for surgery, because there is a Raven-sized hole in my heart now.

She didn't appreciate that attempt at humor. I'll have to do better.

This afternoon, Tanner and I brought her to the crematorium; Tanner picked out her urn, because he wants her on a shelf in his room. We shared some memories and photos with Gaylene, the woman who handles the cremation business. Tanner carried her in by himself, all 62 pounds of her, wrapped in the blanket she always lay on in my office, which is mixed in with her ashes now.

Tomorrow, I'll go pick her up along with some mementos for Tanner: a paw print, a nose print, and some of her fur. Why he wants that I don't know, since she left a lot of fur all over the house; she would shed like she was always stuck in a windstorm. But he'll always have those pieces to remember her by, and he wants to get a tattoo of her pawprint. I've never approved of tattoos, and my wife hasn't either. But she's willing to make this exception for him, and I don't see how I can say 'no'.

For such a long time I would scratch her behind the ears and tell her 'you're such a good girl'. But the truth is, she wasn't a good girl; she was the very best girl. We will have other dogs (my wife thinks otherwise, but I know better; I just have to take her to a pet store and that will be that), and we will love and cherish them. But none of them will ever mean the same to us as Raven did. She was our Puppy-Girl, and she was the best dog ever.