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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Duckslayer100" data-source="post: 329377" data-attributes="member: 1485">The final installment (my great aunt painted the picture):[FONT=&quot]I should have had something profound to say. After all, for the past 11 years we'd been tied at the hip. He was my first dog -- my first "best boy" -- and for over a decade he'd been in the center of my life.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]And yet, walking down a dirt minimum maintenance road outside of town, I could think of nothing.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]It wouldn't have mattered, I suppose. The howling north wind, mixed with Remy's failing hearing, would have made talking mostly one sided. Then again, he's a dog: isn't all talking one sided?[/FONT][FONT=&quot]That's a bit too pessimistic in my mind. Dogs, and especially Remy, know what you're saying. Or at least, they know "how" you're saying what you're saying. Remy was great at that. You could call him a dirty, no good, mongrel sonofabitch, and he'd laugh right along with you because he knew you were full of beans.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]So yes, I could have said something now. But the words wouldn't come. Instead I watched Remy, who was doing what he did best on walks. He stayed ahead 20 yards, keeping vigilant for his dad just in case some critter needed pointing. Then when he strayed far enough, he'd stop and look back with that "hurry up" face; waiting for me to get alongside so he could heel for a few steps before taking off again.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]When Remy was a puppy, I was terrified of losing him. We had dogs growing up that were never off a stake-down or leash because at a moment's notice they'd disappear to the next township. It took a lot of training -- both for Remy and for me -- and growing faith to let Remy roam off-lead. And still, there were many times in the woods when I thought I'd lost him. Want to know what panic is? Remember back 20 or 30 years when you were shopping with your parents in a mall, and thought it would be funny to hide in the clothes rack? That white-eyed, perspiring, pale-faced look your mom had is the same feeling I got if Remy strayed for too long.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]But he's a pointer. They're supposed to roam and stray. If they don't, well, you don't get much for birds in the game bag. Remy somehow managed to toe that line eventually between ranging enough to find birds, to staying close and keeping myself from having a panic attack.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]I was hoping this walk would give me a sign that my boy was OK. That Erin and I overlooked something silly, and Remy was actually just fine. But a half mile from the truck, the telltale drool started foaming up and dribbling from Remy's mouth. He'd been this way for days, a culmination of weeks and months of whatever gut ailment he had. Cancer, maybe? We weren't sure. And when it came to doing yet more and more tests, we'd decided it just wasn't in his, or our, best interest. A year ago, an emergency room visit highlighted how bad his internal workings were. Pancreatitis, the doc said, pretty serious, but he could live a normal life with some adjustments to diet and careful vigilance from us.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]So we did. A daily regimen of antacids, probiotics, specialized vet-approved dog food, and constant monitoring if things were working as they should be. It had gone remarkably well after the ER trip. So well, I almost forgot how sick he really was.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Then the diarrhea came. And the vomiting. And the loss of appetite. And the glazing of his eyes. The wanting to be alone instead of with us. The obvious pain that he'd mask to play with his best bud, our other dog, Blitz. His tail wags were infrequent, but Remy always managed even a weak one if someone came to give him a scratch and "good boy."[/FONT][FONT=&quot]With that, we made that tough decision that all dog owners have to make eventually. And through countless tears (hell, what am I saying, they're still falling) and plenty of talks between Erin and I and our kids, we knew what was best for Remy.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Back at the truck, I helped Remy into the front seat, where he promptly curled up to rest. I scratched his ears, and he rested his head on my hand. We rode like that all the way to the vet. I had 20 minutes for our lives to flash before my eyes -- the puppy years; the NAVHDA testing; the crazy trip to Ohio for his versatile championship title a mere 10 days after my first child was born; hunts galore and thousands of retrieves; but most importantly, how good he was at home as part of our family.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]When Remy passed, silently and without fanfare on the floor of the vet, where they'd laid a comfy fleece blanket, I had a vision. Remy was walking down a dirt road somewhere out of town. He was 20 yards ahead, doing what Remy does best. Then he stopped and looked back. But instead of a "hurry up" look, he had a "take your time, I can wait" look.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]See you on the other side, buddy.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]You were the bestest boy. Ever.[/FONT][ATTACH]49805[/ATTACH]</blockquote>

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