GUS

A while back I buried my best friend and canine companion for the last fourteen years. You readers have heard about my buddy Gus, so many times. He died where he always lay--- at my feet. At fourteen his hips were gone and he struggled to breathe whenever he had to walk any distance at all. But in the end he died peacefully, knowing full well he had done his best to be my faithful pet. He will be truly missed.

Louis Sabin said and I quote. “A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, big or small, young or old. He doesn’t care if your smart, not popular, not a good joke teller, not the best athlete, nor the best looking person. To your dog you are the greatest, the nicest human being that was ever born. You are his friend and protector.” Those words fit Gus to a tee. If I was going somewhere, he had to go with me even if it was just to the mailbox. He would sit in the car for hours watching the door of the building I went in. When I was taking the dock out Gus had to get in the water with me, no mater how cold it was, just to see what I was doing out there in my waders. He would get so excited when we went fishing and had to check out everything I landed. He would get those furrows in his brow when it was only some weeds. If I dug a hole he had to dig with me, and at night Gus took up his place on the floor next to my bed. When my wife passed away, he relentlessly searched the house for her for days. When he couldn’t find her, he abandoned his place in the bedroom and slept where be could watch the back door. Sadly waiting for her to come home. How do you explain such loyalty? Heaven is supposed to be such a happy place and I guess mere mortals can’t really say for sure what is waiting for us there. I’ll be very surprised if there are no dogs.

A good friend, who is also a dog lover, sent me this poem when she heard about Gus’s death.

“So this is where we part my friend, and you’ll run on around the bend.

Gone from sight, but not from mind, new pleasure there you’ll surely find.

I will go on, I’ll find the strength. Life measures quality not its length.

One long embrace before we leave, share one last look before I grieve.

There are others that much is true. But they be they and they aren’t you.

And I impartial, or so I thought, will remember all you’ve taught.

Your place I’ll hold, you will be missed. The fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.

And as you journey to your final rest, take this with you. I loved you best.

                                                                                                Jon Willis