I'll never forget that day -- so long ago. I wanted a Beagle pup, to help me with hunting "bunnies" -- and the S.P.C.A. from two counties away were the closest that had any. I took my daughter with me so she could help me pick out which Beagle pup to bring home, and she was as excited as most any 4 year old would be to be getting a puppy -- ANY puppy; it didn't matter what kind. The moment we stepped in the door we were greeted by a litter of puppies -- but these weren't Beagles. They looked like everything from Spaniels to Rottweiler's, and everything in between. The litter had just been dropped off and the staff was in the process of cleaning them and documenting everything, as they all ran freely and played on the open floor.

All the while we tried looking at the Beagles, the Spaniel/Rottweiler pups played and ran amok -- except for one that was almost pure black (with a small white patch on his chest). He followed my daughter and I everywhere, almost tripping us several times as he was constantly "underfoot". He simply would not leave our side. When we would stop walking or moving around, he would lie between my feet or actually ON my daughter's foot -- just so he could be close and possibly get a pat or the head or a belly rub. To keep from constantly tripping over him, and possibly stepping on him, my daughter picked him up to carry him with us as we walked around (looking for Beagles). As she carried him, he curled up in her arms, laid his head against her chest, and fell asleep... and that was the beginning of more than 15 years of the best companion a family could ever have.

Griff -- named after the roly-poly, fun-loving character Del Griffith from the movie "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" -- was definitely on the Spaniel side of the litter, as he was a spitting image of a pure-bred Springer Spaniel. If it weren't for his brothers and sisters on the S.P.C.A. floor with him no one would ever guess there was a drop of Rottweiler blood in him -- except when you saw him crunch up a steak bone in a matter of minutes; or if he would latch on to my arm if he thought my kids were in danger if I was playing a little too rough.

He liked to roam the woods behind our house, and LOVED being outside, but his main priority was his family (myself, my wife, and our three children). Although he would venture up the mountain and in the woods, he was never very far from us... a quick call of his name or a whistle would bring him running "home". Throughout the years there were numerous "de-skunking" recipes that were tried, an emergency trip to the vet to remove porcupine quills, and thousands of sprints across the yard for the rabbits that were quick enough to stay just out of his reach. In his more than 15 years on this earth just about the only time he was leashed was if we were taking him somewhere; there wasn't much need for a leash when he would rather be by your side than anywhere else.

He formed a bond with my oldest daughter (the one that picked him as our new pet that day at the pound -- or should I say HE picked HER) that was as strong as ever -- even after she moved away to college and wasn't at home very often. He was there when we brought our two younger children home from the hospital -- sniffing nonstop trying to figure out what this new bundle was that we brought home. There was no need for electronic baby monitors, because at the first whimper or stirring in the night he would be off our bed and at the baby's crib in no time -- making sure "that little bundle" was OK and everything was alright. He was the "security blanket" for my wife when I was away for trips or hunting weekends at camp -- always there to alert on bumps in the night, and to stick up the hairs on his neck if there was any danger sensed. He was a great protector -- making sure everyone in his family was safe. No one would ever be hurt... not on his watch.

Thru all the years -- as kids were getting older, our lives were becoming more hectic, and everyone seemed to be scattered in different directions almost daily to ball practices, school recitals, grocery shopping, and everything else a busy family contends with nowadays -- there was always that one constant... when you got home there was Griff waiting for you at the door -- prancing around, tail wagging so hard it would thud off the clothes dryer, just not being able to wait another few seconds until you could get the door unlocked so he could welcome you home. It didn't matter if you were the first one home, the last, or any one in between -- you got the same loving greeting every time.

We noticed thru the years that the bunnies somehow were able to stay farther ahead of his sprints across the yard; that his trips up the mountain became less frequent and didn't last as long -- as his older body didn't have the same energy it once did. He had somehow -- whether or not we wanted to acknowledge it -- gone from puppy, to dog, to old dog.

Year after year, as we went about our daily lives we seemed to push the thoughts of the inevitable to the back of our minds, well out of the way of reality. It just didn't seem real that "the one constant" thru the years was gone... because age had taken all of his hearing and he had no idea we were home and unlocking the door. That even when he did see the bunnies in the yard thru his cataracts and mostly-lost vision that there weren't even attempts to give chase. That most of his days were spent lying on his bed, as his hips were so bad that he had trouble even standing up. It was consciously a subconscious oversight -- like if we didn't knowingly acknowledge the fact that he was getting old then we didn't have to acknowledge a life without him.

As much as no one wanted to admit it, the time had come that "the decision" had to be made. His quality of life had declined to the point that he appeared to just be struggling to get by day-to-day instead of actually LIVING. As much as we dreaded having to say 'goodbye' to our best friend -- as much as our hearts would ache without him -- it was the best decision for HIM. He lived a great life, had 15 years of sharing a loving home, and had a lot of fun along the way. He enriched our lives beyond measure, every day for 15 years. Here's to you, my friend... may you now be able to catch those bunnies you chase across the clouds. You will be missed.