A Tribute to Old Dan, who died too young

This week my little black dog, officially named Old Dan (after a canine book character) got hit by a car and killed. He was just over two years old and had recently become a house dog (before Christmas) after he and his sister Little Ann managed to burn down their big doghouse by knocking down the heat lamp I forgot to unplug after a cold night. I had let him out for his usual evening run through the timber across the street from our house. For some reason I still don't know, he didn't take his usual right turn when he left the driveway. Instead he turned left and went up the road to the city park. I think he might have been following a neighbor's dog. Anyway, Ann came home in the usual 15-20 minutes but Dan wasn't with her. After 40 mins. I went looking and found him in the grass at the park. I think whoever hit him must have laid him there. There wasn't a mark on him.

We were devastated, I was guilt ridden and angry with myself. I knew that letting him have a run off the leash entailed some risk. But he had done very well about staying close, in the timber, not chasing cars or anything of the sort. He came home when I called him. We live on a quiet back street on the edge of a tiny little town, with little traffic and timber on two sides. I believed (and I still do) that spending a lifetime on a leash is no sort of life for a dog. If he wasn't an A#1 fence climbing Houdini I could have fenced the yard, but it wouldn't have mattered. When they were penned outside in their big enclosure (with a top on it) he still found ways to get out. He wanted to chase rabbits, dammit! The price I paid for giving him his freedom is losing him. The price Little Ann will pay may end up being a lifetime on the leash.

After the doghouse fire, the dogs had become accustomed to their new indoor-dog routine and Dan was learning tricks pretty fast. I'd taught him about six or so in a few weeks, and he had just learned a new one the night before - to catch treats as I tossed them to him. He was really smart and could pick up a trick in a few minutes. If you didn't give him his treat fast enough he'd do all of them in rapid succession, just to make sure he got the one you wanted. My husband and I spent our first Valentine's Day as a married couple digging a grave for our furry friend.

His littermate Ann is sweet and loveable and seems lost without her brother. I let him sniff his body so she might know he was gone. This morning when I walked her she sniffed all the way up the block, along the path he must have taken, right to the place where I found him. They have never been apart, so she has never been alone.

While she was kennelled in the big bathroom yesterday - their usual place while we were at work so they wouldn't eat the kitty cats - she tore off a chunk of the door trim and tore it to bits! She did ok last night sleeping in there, but I'm dreading going home to see what havoc she has wrought. We are, it seems rather cold-bloodedly, already talking about getting another dog - for Ann. I had my prior two dogs for more than ten years until one died of old age and the other had to be put down at 14 due to a tumor. One of them was Dan and Ann's grandfather, a German Shorthair named Buddy. I still miss him, and Moose, my German Shepherd, who lived to be 11 or so. Pretty long for a shep.

There were moments just after I found him, while I was crying hysterically and questioning everything about the whole situation, I considered giving Ann to a friend and just having no dogs, because I didn't feel I deserved to have one. But I don't think that's an option for us. I've learned a valuable lesson, a hard lesson. But whenever I think of Dan, I'll remember him nose down, tail up, eyes shining, off on the trail of a rabbit. I can't help thinking that his life was better for including the free running times he adored.

Danny Boy, I'll miss your sweet little face and your happy brown eyes, and the way you used to "talk" to me when I got home at nights. I'll see you at the bridge, buddy.

This is open for comment, so if you do comment, please be kind. If you feel like saying mean things to me, please don't bother. You can't possibly say anything worse than I've already said to myself.