On January 7, 2008, our oldest fur child, Champion Sandcastle Divot, pass over the bridge while Garry held her in his arms. She lives on in hundreds of direct decendents, as well as through her two little brothers and together, their DNA lives on in the breed on two continents and undoubtedly thousands of pedigrees. The breed can only be the better for their contribution.

Divot was no toy. She ran with the big dogs and managed to boss them around while she was at it. Her relationship with Garry was love incarnate and he will miss her forever. This story (an chapter from my book "The 12-Foot Teepee") is dedicated to Divot. May there always be a loving hand to ruffle her fur. Wait for us at the bridge, our little Red Queen. And while you are there, say hello to Pagan, Mac, Spanky, Rusty, Pooky, Mao ... and so many others ... and let our friends and family know that we miss them and will see them again when our time comes.

This is for Divot.

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Recently, my husband, who I'm sure was saying this only to remind me that he believes in me, has taken to pointing out that I should write a book about dogs. This, no doubt, is because he feels that I need to be reminded that I am a writer and should be writing -- and we have a lot of dogs. He knows that writers should write about what they know. It would be difficult for anyone, least of all me, to dispute my allegiance to and passion for dogs.

My favorite cartoon by James Thurber, who also had a lot of dogs, shows a man is sitting in front of a typewriter, that holds a blank piece of paper. Dogs are everywhere, crouched on and under his desk, on the bookcase, hanging from the lamp. A woman, presumably is standing next to him, speaking. The captions says "Write about dogs!"

James Thurber wrote about dogs and ultimately published a lot of books. I love dogs and have managed to collect a fair number of them, Elephants fill my living room in a metaphorical sense, but dogs fill it in a real way. Anyone who comes to visit has to contend with the canines for a place to sit. That's just life here on the rancho. The dogs live here. Guests are transient.

If our visitors are particularly old and frail or allergic, we try to accommodate their needs and move the most rambunctious, smelly, or hairy dogs out of the way, but mostly our guests have to make the best of it. If you don't like dogs, you have come to the wrong house.

Not surprisingly, people who aren't fond of dogs don't visit us much, which I don't mind. I prefer the company of dogs to the company of most people. There are good reasons for preferring dogs to people, the most obvious one is that dogs REALLY love you.

Dogs are not more honest than people, but their lies are simple, transparent, and without malice. They just want an extra biscuit. If they don't get it, they will keep loving you anyway. A dog's love is freely given, no strings. It is permanent and without judgment.

It is in the love department that dogs have it all over people. Dogs know how to love. They think you are absolutely wonderful. They think you are absolutely wonderful every single day of their lives and when they are dying, the last thing they will do is look at you with love in their eyes and wag their tail for one final time. They are love at its purest, love without end.

I have spent my life lurching crazily between the quest for God and the quest for the best dog food at the most reasonable price. When times have been hard and the choice has been between food for me and food for my furry children, the fur kids have always won.

My dogs do not suffer from angst unless supper runs late or biscuits get forgotten in the bustle of the day's activities. If such a catastrophe should occur, they know exactly where to present their grievances and apply for redress. Their live close to their deities. They hang out with their gods on the sofa. They get biscuits from them in the morning and evening. If their lives are lived in a circumscribed and very small world, it is nonetheless a good world where no evil exists, unless you count as evil being required to go out in the rain to do your business.

Sometimes one of their gods gets angry and yells at them, and they may be unhappy for a few minutes, but the gods of their world don't stay angry. Our dogs live in a world where the gods are kindly and loving, are inclined to scratch them behind the ears and talk to them in soft voices. And every evening, for at least a little while, the gods climb down from heaven to play on the floor. Because we are gods to them, we set laws for them to live by. They don't have many laws, but the laws that they do have are straightforward and enforced with fair consistency.

Thou shalt not poop or pee in the house. This is the law.
Thou shalt not chew on anything not expressly given to you for chewing, especially not anything that contains batteries.
Don't jump on old people, don't attack the UPS delivery people, and don't stay up late barking. Abide by the law and all will be well in heaven and earth.

Dogs thrive under the rule of law and life goes forward peacefully between human and canines when laws are clear and understood by all.

Our human side of the contract is far more complex. It's harder being god than dog.

We pledge to care for them all the days of their lives. We keep them healthy. We love and nurture them. We feed them proper diets and make sure they get exercise, though they don't get enough of it and neither do we. We keep them warm and dry in the winter, cool and dry in the summer.

When their time comes -- and I dare say that our dogs have no worries about such things and live entirely in the joyful present -- they will go gently out of this world if we have any control over the matter.

We, their deities, will do our utmost to make sure that they suffer as little as possible. That is our solemn obligation. We will lovingly help them pass from this world to the next when their time comes.

We will live up to that pledge because we really are God to our fur children and must never betray their trust.

Pets teach you a lot about the divine contract.