I have been honored to have had many dog companions over the years… six in all. They are (and were) all good and dear friends. If you have never had a pet companion, you have never known true, unconditional love and acceptance.

Putchy: February, 1984 – I was living in Sharbot Lake, Ontario and teaching music at Sharbot Lake High School. One of my students, Mike, lived on a farm and raised hounds. He had a recent litter of pups and was looking for homes for them; the mom was a Blue Tick and the dad an American Walker. After a while, he had one pup left – a white female with a large black triangle on her forehead. Without ever having seen her, I told Mike that I would adopt her.

For a while I called her Spot but, within a few months, she started to develop small black spots all over her body and, most noticeably, on her ears. I renamed her Angeputchket – a word that means “too much of something that would otherwise have been just right" referring, of course, to her (now) many spots! I called her Putchy for short!

Putchy was always a bit on the shy side. She loved to run in the yard and explore every nook and cranny. I had a waterbed at the time and, being a soft, warm place to spend time, Putchy often lay on the bed when I was at work. When I came home, she’d be so happy to see me, she’d pee on herself. It really was something to see because she’d roll over onto her back first – waiting, apparently, for me to rub her tummy – but she’d just get so excited that I was home, she lost control of herself. The pee would shoot about 3 feet straight up in the air and then down onto her belly. She’d then need a bath, and I’d need to do laundry! It took a while, but eventually I was able to get into the house quickly and get her outside before she messed on herself.

In winter, the lake would freeze over, and I’d take Putchy for walks across the lake and around the small island that lay about 75’ off shore. Two years later, I transferred to a new school and moved to Kingston – about 50 miles south.

Cricket: August, 1987 – I was at the pet store in the Cataraqui Town Center in Kingston. There was a cute little male Border Collie mix pup in one of the cages. Apparently, he had been purchased as a gift but was not wanted and so had been returned. I stuck my face up to the cage and he trotted over to me and licked me on the nose! I was hooked and, $5.00 later, took him home.

Putchy had been an only dog up until that time, but the first thing Cricket did in his new home, was pick up part of the 50’ rope that tethered Putchy to a large tree in the yard, and take her for a walk. Even as a puppy, Cricket’s herding instinct was strong… and Putchy was subservient ever after! Cricket and Putchy were good friends and often played with each other.

In 1994, after their annual visit to the vet, I was told that Putchy had developed a heart murmur and that there was no cure or medication that would help. He said that she probably had a year – maybe two – but her heart would continue to weaken and, at some point, it would simply give out. I spoiled Putchy from then on… much to Cricket’s dismay.

It was several months before I really noticed that Putchy wasn’t quite as active as she had once been. She slept more and, after a time, she ate less than she used to. One day, after a short walk in the summer of 1995, Putchy collapsed on the floor and I knew that walking and breathing had become too difficult for her. Though it went against every fiber in my being, I knew that I could no longer let her suffer for my sake. I called the vet and told him that I was going to bring Putchy in that afternoon.

I carried Putchy to the car and drove the short distance to the vet’s office. I carried her in and laid her down very gently on a large, soft pillow and asked if I could stay with her until the end. The vet stepped out of the room after he gave her an injection and, gently holding her head, talking softly to her, and looking into her eyes, I watched my best friend slip away peacefully. It was the most heart-wrenching thing I had ever done… but I knew it was the right thing to do. I removed her collar, made arrangements for her burial in a local pet cemetery, and left. I cried all the way home and late into the evening.

As much as I was devastated by Putchy’s death, Cricket also keenly felt her absence. For as far back as he could remember, Cricket had never been alone. He would run around the house checking every corner, looking for her. He would sit down in front of me and look at me with a quizzical look on his face, as if to ask where she was. After a few days, I think he realized that she wasn’t coming back… and that saddened us both.

The following year, at the ripe old age of 43, I retired from teaching and moved to Halifax. I could not take Cricket with me, so I arranged to have him adopted by a young family that desperately wanted an older dog. One day in June, I took Cricket over to meet his new family. He was a bit suspicious of them at first, but once he was offered a treat and allowed to explore the house, he played very happily with them. We all agreed it was a good match, and Cricket would be happy with more people in his “pack". I called them a week later to see how things were going, and again a month after. Cricket had adjusted very well and it was as though he had lived with them all his life. I never saw Cricket again, but knew that he would be well taken care of.

I have often wondered whether it was incredibly selfish of me to let Cricket go, or whether it was unselfish. In an effort to appease my inner demons, I tell myself that Cricket was better off with a larger, loving family and that it would have been unfair of me to take him from a large house and yard to a small apartment… but I’ve never been quite sure of my decision in this matter.