Today I was basically forced to put my Grandfather's Beagle, Digger, to rest. He was suffering and it was time, Pop-pop knew it was time, but couldn't bring himself to make that choice. I was handed the 'torch' so to speak and I explained to my Grandfather how it was. It all started in near the End of September 1990, I lived with my grandparents for most of my life and we are very close-nit. My parents had purchased a farm for my horse endevers and for them to have a quiet place to escape to on the weekends. My grandparents and I took the 'Guest House" and we fixed it up really neat. It was my senior year in High School and I was Veterinary School bound, my Nana insisted that she was going to move with me to Ohio "Just to make sure I am okay" and my Grandfather was feeling the same, Their favorite grandaughter was leaving the nest. I knew I would have to find something for them to concentrate on besides me. The farm was a great hunting spot and my Grandfather taught me how to hunt. Well with the team breaking up, it was time to find him a new partner. I found a good breeder of "Hunting Stock" Beagles and I brought home the one with the Broken Tail. Rolled up in a blanket, Wiggling in my arms and wimpering too, I walked in the my Pop-pops house and layed him on the floor. They both just looked and gave me a grin, so I knew HE was IN. For two days we didnt know what to name this worbling pup, then my pop-pop called from his truck on his was home, "Hey Little one (thats me!)are ya out there?" My nana replied, "yes, we're here, Digger" And that was it, thats how Digger got his name. My Grandfather was a Coalmine Shovel operator, soon to retire. Digger was his "handle" on the CB. Well the supposed to be hunting dog, became the House King and even ate Icecream every night. Nope he wasn't spoiled, not one bit???? He'd hear my Bronco coming off the highway below their house and he would head to the door and bark and howl. He could never be fooled, even to this day, no matter how many vehicles I changed he knew it was me coming this way. Later that year I moved out onto the farm, to tend all the animals all by myself and my German Shep, Rex. They would come down on the weekends. But, whenever Digger got the chance, he ran to my old bedroom and climbed into bed. My Poppop would bring Digger down and we would kick out some Cotton Tails here there. When I was working he'd come down and just wander around, Digger, never too far ahead or behind. He knew not to get too close to the horses and was weary of the cows. Life Flew bye, I got married, had a baby boy and ended up living right next door to them (I had to give up the farm due to serious health problems). Until lately, it was Poppop and my son taking long walks down the old railroad tracks, Digger never too far ahead and never too far behind, lately it was more behind. Digger Always went with poppop to the store, he would leave the Truck running with the Air conditioner on! He even had his own lazy-boy chair down their basement. As his condition and health worsened my Poppop would care for him, it didnt matter what Digger needed, he had it right then. He'd roll over to have his ears cleaned, he teethed brushed.... even when he began to get these little growths on him, he'd lay there and never complain while Poppop and I too them off. He started to limp and mone and grone, he became gray almost over night. He started to cough, and I knew, I had to make Poppop understand, there was no more we could do. My son Andy, crying said, "Mommy fix him like you always have, you fix horses and make them right, I dont want Digger to go" Its hard to explain to a 6 year old, but I tried the best I could. He now lays to rest by a rumbling creek, where he will be visited by Poppop and Andy when they go to fish. I dont know who is taking this harder, my Poppop or I? But either way he will be sorely missed. And you know, Digger never did Hunt! :0) Sincerely, T.A. Smithmyer