He died peacefully cradled in my arms, the last sound he heard being my voice speaking to him softly: “It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay…” We had been inseparable for almost 20 years and in those years experienced a lifetime together.

Like so many good things often do, he came into my life unexpectedly. Arriving home from work one day, my wife announced she had something she wanted to show me. From the car she produced a small black furry bundle and sat it down in the floor. The bundle, a black puppy.  She told me she had found him that afternoon wandering outside the school where she taught. “He was running around with some other stray adult dogs, just like he was one of them,” she said hopefully. Unsure if I was ready for another dog, I watched dubiously as the energetic pup set about inspecting the place, sniffing legs of chairs and peering into the kitchen. When he came over to inspect my shoe, I reached down and shook him playfully; he immediately latched onto my pant leg and began to pull vigorously. “OK”, I thought to myself, all doubts immediately swept aside, “I guess you’ll do.” 
      
Thus began a new, sometimes stormy chapter in our lives as a family. Beau would be a house dog by necessity, spending a great deal of time indoors. This took some adjustment. Not liking to be left alone, he frequently took his revenge by attacking various inanimate objects in the house. Always an inveterate hater of stuffed toy animals – the mere sight of them brought blood to his eyes - he once decapitated the head of a large decorative fabric rabbit belonging to my wife, ghoulishly arranging the ears and eyes around the living room floor. Mostly, though, he went after my things. Having already eaten several of my sweaters that first year, he decided one day to go straight for the jugular by dragging out a box of my favorite paperbacks, ripping it open, and vigorously chewing up several volumes, presumably those titles he most disliked. Gave a whole new meaning to “dog-eared.” Weighing less than 15 pounds and no bigger than a breadbox, he was nonetheless always up for a fight, regardless the opponent’s size. As such, I was forced on more than one occasion to quite literally drag him from the field of battle before being mauled to death.  On another occasion, I had to pull his head out of a hole as he attempted to follow a rodent into its den, his jaws snapping and a crazed look on his clay smeared face.

With all that said, I now come to what I really wanted to say at the start. Never was there a more faithful companion or better friend than this little mixed breed terrier we called Beau. Through the many years we spent together, through the ups and downs of living, the illnesses, the accidents, the happy times and the sad, he was always there for me. Regardless of my mood or the season, blind to the vicissitudes of my sometimes selfish and thoughtless behavior, he remained steadfastly committed to me, seeing me through every crisis and every disappointment. Days when things weren’t going well, his antics, like the black birds in the Robert Frost poem, had a way of lifting my spirits and so “has given my heart/A change of mood/And saved some part/Of a day I had rued.”  That was my dog Beau, always coming to my rescue, far more than I ever came to his. In providing him a home and shelter, he returned the favor a thousand times over through his devotion, his patience, and, above all, his good company. After all this time I still miss him and sometimes dream we are together again walking in some green open space. Humorist Will Rogers once said that if dogs don’t go to heaven, then he wanted to go where they do. Oh yes. Yes.    

She was a long hair mini dachshund and we did not know exactly how old she was. I do know that when I first rescued Tessie eight years ago, she could not see or hear well, but she sure could smell another dog a mile away. She was so energetic, happy, loved her walks, food and lots of people attention.  I thought she was quite young.

On December 22 while I was getting ready for work, Tessie and I did our usual routine of breakfast and outside for her. After she ate her breakfast and jumped around a bit, she just lied down on the floor and could not get up. I could see something was very wrong and rushed her to the emergency pet hospital at 6:30am but she died in my lap on the way.  

I was devastated and in absolute shock.  It was a good thing I was on vacation for two weeks because I did not stop crying for four straight days. I was obligated to cook dinner for my children and their friends and in looking back it was good short term distraction. While I shopped for dinner, I cried all through the store. I would run across people that cried with me as they remembered their lost pets.

I guess perception is everything; I thought I had about 10 more years with Tessie.  We now realize that she was most likely 6 or 7 years older than we thought. That would have made her 13 or 14 years old.

As I was lying in bed grieving, I started looking on PetFinder.com for dachshund rescues. I decided to rescue another dachshund because I understand their quirky and stubborn personalities. In honor of Tessie, I decided to rescue a senior dog.

Even though my friends and family kept telling me to wait, I just could not. It was just too painful and I knew that I wanted to have a dog in my life at all times. I was still able to go through the grieving process even though I was looking for another rescue. I did everything to get out of my heart, went to the animal shelter and dropped off items they needed for the shelter dogs, and took long walks.

I contacted Phyllis Van Boxtel, rescue director, of Recycle Love Dog Rescue to enquire about a little red dachshund mix that was apparently dropped off at a shelter by someone who could no longer take care of her. I was not sure about it, but it made me feel better just to find out more about her. Her name was Flower.

I live in Northern California and was in no shape to fly or drive to San Diego (400 miles) to pick her up. When I told this to Phyllis she said it was not a problem and they would fly her to me. I asked how much this would cost and she said it was free as she is affiliated with a company called Pilots n Paws who flies dogs for free to good homes. I could not believe it! So I just went with it, filled out the application and sent my adoption fee in. Sight-unseen I agreed to take her.

Three days later, I drove to the Palo Alto municipal airport and waited in a little building near the tarmac for the plane. Once landed, I was able to go out and greet them when they opened the airplane doors. It was amazing!

I renamed her Jolie Fleur (pretty flower in French).  I’ve now had my little Jolie for 3 weeks. She is doing very well and taken me on as her person.

I believe my little Tessie led me to Jolie as I do believe she was trying to tell me something before she died. She was clingy and not her usual self for a few weeks before she died. Her signs were so subtle and I didn’t notice because she did not appear to be ill before she died.

I know that eventually I will go through a grieving period with Jolie because she is older. I don’t know how long we have together, but I am going to make it the best time I can for her.

It is worth rescuing senior dogs. They are so lovely and really know when they are safe and loved.

I would like to thank the following people for making this miracle happen: Phyllis Van Boxtel of Recycled Love Dog Rescue. Angel Pilots of Pilots n Paws. Luke Freeman for taking all the photos and being my best support of the Day! Thanks Luke, you are a trooper.

I am so happy to know that there are so many human angels still helping and loving the innocent animals that do not have a voice of their own and cannot defend themselves. 

Just about every Monday morning finds me at the local off-leash dog beach with a group of dogs and a friend or two. It is such a welcome break from my demanding and stressful job as an animal control officer. The dogs I see at the beach are beautiful, happy and loved. Old and young, large and small, they are having a blast getting exercise, playtime and social interaction. It’s a delightful change from some of the heartbreak I see at work.

On a recent beach day I came across a scene which touched me deeply. A couple stood looking out at the ocean. Between them was a canvas stretcher with a handle that could be pulled across the sand. There was a thick dog bed on the stretcher and a very old dog lay flat on the bed. I paused for a moment, gazing at the gray muzzle and alert but cloudy eyes of the old dog. One of my dogs came up and before I could call her, the two dogs sniffed noses. The old dog was unable to even lift his head, but I could see that he was aware of what was happening around him and seemed to enjoy the interaction. I called my dog and apologized to the couple for the intrusion.

The dog and his people were calm and accepting and I continued on my way with a lump in my throat. I’m guessing that this was good-bye and that the people wanted the dog to have a last visit to a place he loved. To smell the salt air and feel the sweet ocean breeze.  It was so obvious that this dog was adored, cherished, beloved. I teared up at the thought of what was coming and yet, in my world, I found it to be a beautiful scene. I’ve seen the old dogs, abandoned and alone in the shelter. I’ve held those unwanted dogs and tenderly stroked their gray muzzles. I’ve told them they were loved and kissed them as they drew their last breath.

This is what every dog deserves, I thought, as I took a final backward glance at the little family. All three were gazing out to sea.

I would love to hear how readers have made good-bye special for an adored companion.

Last week’s episode of NCIS was inspired by Hawkeye, the dog who led the family into the funeral of his guardian, Navy SEAL Jon Tumlinson, and remained by his coffin throughout the ceremony. The photograph of Hawkeye lying on the floor by the coffin, taken by Tumlinson’s cousin Lisa Pembleton, has been admired by millions of people.

In the episode, a dog named Dexter, who is trained to detect landmines, and his Marine handler save a young boy from being killed. The boy is chasing after his soccer ball, which sets off a landmine. The dog and the Marine guide the boy back to safety, avoiding an additional landmine. Immediately after the boy is safely hugging his mom, the Marine is shot and killed by a sniper. Dexter lies down next to the fallen Marine and stays there, just as Hawkeye remained by Tumlinson’s coffin.

The episode reminds us all of the sacrifices made by members of the military and their families. It is dedicated to working military dogs and their handlers.