Follow Me

Follow Me

Caution: Contains passing of a pet.

His eyesight was poor, his gait was labored yet he followed me. Through the flowering meadow, over the babbling stream, along the dusty country road he followed me. There was a time, (was it only last week?) he would have explored along the way. Venturing off on his own quest to examine an interesting flutter near a sweet clover or search out a foreign smell capturing his attention or take a cooling splash in the water. But today if he lingered behind he was slow to catch up, hesitated like he didn't hear my summon let alone heed it. And he seemed overly relieved when we turned into our own lane, crossed the rumble-rumble bridge that always announced a visitor and sought the shade of the giant maple tree.

Today he was tired. Too tired to ramble over to the faucet to take a drink from an overflowing bowl of fresh water. Too tired to chew and swallow any of his favorite foods when offered. Too tired to fend off the rambunctious play of the new litter of kittens. Too tired to return my hugs. Too tired to do his duty.

As we watched the sun dip low in the west over the rolling fields of hay turning the sky to oranges, pinks and purples he must have thought, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will run and jump and chase with wild abandonment just like always.” But I knew. I knew those days were over for my champion. The sun was setting on a life well lived. I cried into his long golden coat.

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Thirteen years and nine months ago my family volunteered to whelp a litter of eight adorable golden retriever pups for a neighbor. The owners knew my children, ages ten, eight and four, at the time would be exactly what these high energy babies needed to help them socialize and adapt to a loving household they were destined to be adopted into eventually. As a stay-at-home mom I had the availability the busy couple didn't have to devote round the clock attention to the newborns' proper growth and development.

After eight action filled weeks the fleshed out balls of fluff were returned to their kennel home. All but two found immediate forever homes. The owners decided to keep one for their own pet and offered us the other as a thank you for opening our home to the mayhem. They kept Gilligan and we welcomed back Champ.

Champ. Handsome, loyal, affectionate, intelligent, well-behaved, eager-to-please Champ became a constant source of joy not only for us in the household but for our extended families as well.

While Champ was still a lap-sized puppy we left him in the care of my mother, Mary, and step-dad, Walt, when we went on a two week vacation. Walt developed an unbreakable bond with the little fellow as Champ loved to ride on his power mobility chair with him where ever they went. Long after Champ was a full sized seventy-five-pounder he still eagerly climbed into Walt's lap whenever he visited our farm. That's tough love!

I cherish a series of pictures that encapsulates a poignant story of a boy and his dog. My six-year-old red-headed son has his arm around Champ's golden neck as they gaze out over our alfalfa field watching the neighbor mow with his full-sized farm tractor. The next picture shows Champ watching the somewhat older boy on a lawn tractor pulling a wagon cutting the same area. The last picture is the red-headed teenager with Champ by his side sitting atop a self-owned farm tractor mowing the same field.

Now I snap a picture of Champ with the sun setting behind him on that beloved piece of property. The son is recently married and sowing other fields.

My oldest daughter used to take Champ on 5 AM five mile runs. He was her companion and champion. He let no harm come to her. Ever since the youngest was born twelve years ago he seldom left her side, either. Now that she is the only one left at home they have been inseparable. Chasing sunbeams and dreams.

When we added cattle to our acreage Champ challenged them to stay in line. He also would round-up our chickens and kept the ducks all in a row. He got along with the goats, alpacas and horses. Even the addition of a show-worthy Stafford-shire Terrier phased him not. Champ accepted them all into the family. He was smitten with kittens, kittens and more kittens. Black ones, golden ones, brindle, calico, stripes or whatever flavor. They loved him as much as he loved them.

“But bunnies? For a 4-H project? But none for me? You don't know how you are breaking this canine heart, Dear Buddy!” I am sure Champ must have been chomping at the bit to get a bite of one of those when my other son decided that would be his summer assignment one year. Between Champ and the coyotes howling at night those poor floppy-eared hoppers were not happy and probably scared themselves to death. Needless to say the project flopped.

That son followed a girl to far away North Dakota about three years ago to make her his bride. Champ mourned that separation by sleeping in his vacant bed for months afterwards.

Only a couple of years ago we got word that Gilligan, 'Gillie' to the family, the brother of Champ, had sadly passed away. Knowing large-breed dogs seldom live beyond twelve years we knew it was a matter of time before we would suffer the same loss. That day came this week, the day before my fiftieth birthday. With extended family rallying around trying to comfort our grief, my husband, children and myself said our sorrowful goodbyes as we knew the sun was setting on this life well-lived.

Good-bye our true and faithful friend. It is okay if you can't get up anymore to wag your tail and nuzzle our noses with your exuberant greetings. You will always be our champion. You'll remain in all of our hearts and I'll continue to check behind me on my evening walks to see if you are still following me. Bet you'll be there in spirit.