Goodnight, my little dreamer, Steve.

Yesterday we said goodbye to my best friend for the last thirteen years. Steve, my dog, was an angel of the highest rank. She turned thirteen this month, and lately she's been in a lot of pain, with severe arthritis, and almost completely unable to walk.

I put a collection of pictures up on Smugmug. Unfortunately, I don't have many digital photos of her from before about eight or nine years ago. I have a few print photos, but haven't had a chance to scan them yet.



I have known Steve since she was a small puppy. My ex-wife and I got her from Animal Rescue when she was about six weeks old, and we were instantly smitten. The shelter had named her "Dakota", and we changed it to Steve. My brother-in-law Brad said that was the only time he could remember, that he preferred the shelter name of an adopted animal.

I remember when she was a little puppy teaching her to play "pull-the-thing". At first, she didn't quite understand why I would give her a rope, and then immediately yank it away, but she caught on very fast. It remained her favorite game for her entire life. She would fasten onto something with a death grip, and pull as hard she could, growling ferociously. I liked to get my face down next to hers while tugging, and growl right back at her. She couldn't get enough of this game. Often while I was studying or working, she would come up to me with one of her rope toys in her mouth, eagerly waiting for me to take the bait.

Another thing that was very special about Steve was her dreaming. Ever since she was little, she had vivid, near-constant dreams whenever she slept. At first it was disconcerting, how violently she thrashed about. But so cute! She would kick her legs, and bark, and you could watch her eyes flitting all over the place. Once I swear I watched her, in her dream, as she chased a rabbit across a field, then stopped and dipped her head and started to drink some water from a mountain stream. The dreaming was so noisy though, that until I discovered earplugs, it was impossible to let her sleep in the same room. You would just be getting to sleep when you'd be yanked back awake by the scratching of her claws and her muted dream-barking.

We had Steve for about three or four months when we decided that she needed a companion, and we went back to the same shelter and got her sister and litter-mate, Jade.

Steve was always more mature and mild-mannered than Jade. Jade was a "hellion" (the word that the shelter used) from the first day. By comparison with Jade, any other dog would have seemed easy to manage. I wish that I could claim that I always loved Steve and Jade equally, but I just can't deny it: Steve was my favorite. I think it's because Jade was often a bit of a bully, and I always tend to route for the underdog. Here they are in a pretty typical pose from that time, with Jade sitting on top of Steve:



Steve and Jade, both beautiful girls, though they fought loudly and often, were constant companions. They grew up in a house on the bay, and so became water-loving dogs. Another favorite game, when the weather was warm enough, was to swim out into the water to chase a stick, and bring it dutifully back. It was pretty amazing how far they would swim, when they were in their primes.



They were always in competition with each other. Jade was always a little bit faster of a runner, but Steve was the better swimmer, so that made it interesting. They both loved the beach -- I think mostly because all manner of things would float up, providing an amazing panoply of rich, enticing odors and tastes. I would often turn away for a moment, only to turn back and recoil in horror to see some rotten, skeletal monstrosity that they had dug up and were excitedly munching on.

We would always say that Steve was our good dog, and Jade was our bad dog. (Fortunately, Jade never learned English quite well enough to understand this sentence.) We were kidding about Jade being a bad dog, of course, but it was definitely true that Steve was easier to manage. To be able to let them outside to play, but not have them run all over the neighborhood, we first decided to try an electric fence. Steve learned to accept it right away, and was no problem. Jade, on the other hand, learned to ignore it right away, dashing straight through the "no man's land" regardless of how many volts it sent through her skull. And so, the electric fence idea fell flat.

Then, I built a real fence of concrete, wood, and chicken wire. Again, Steve had no problems -- she was quite content to hang out and play in the back yard. Jade, on the other hand, actually learned to pull the chicken wire apart strand by strand with her teeth, and make her escape.

Steve and Jade loved to hunt squirrels and rabbits. Those were two words of English that Steve, especially, understood very well. Just mention the word "squirrel", and she would run to the back door and look all around and up in the trees. I'm pretty sure she knew the difference, because if you said "rabbit", she would look all over the place, but not up in the trees. We would always look for squirrels and rabbits whenever driving in and out of my or my parents' neighborhoods. Usually, I would spot one first, and say, "There's a squirrel!", and they would go crazy. Sometimes, I would let them out of the car to give chase. This was not a good idea, I know, but they always had so much fun with it that I just couldn't resist. They never did actually succeed in catching one, I don't think. But once, I did get into an argument about it with one of my parents' neighbors.

When she was about six years old, in July and August of 2002, she developed a lump on her left front leg. I took her to a couple of different vets, and consulted with my sister (who is also a vet). At first they thought it might be an infection, but it grew rapidly and was causing her a great deal of pain. Eventually she was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a very nasty bone cancer that dogs often get, and that is almost always fatal. They said, and I read, that by the time they're first seen, 90% of bone cancers have already spread out of control.

That was a blow, but I decided to go ahead and have her leg amputated, even though the vet I spoke to said that it would only do a little to relieve her pain, and probably wouldn't prolong her life. Here she is a couple of days after the surgery:



Well, the days, weeks, and months passed, and we always had that feeling of waiting for the second shoe, but amazingly, the cancer did not come back. She got another seven years of life. During all that time, she had many adventures, like playing hockey, jumping in the snow, herding llamas, chasing (but not catching) many squirrels and rabbits, many trips to the beach, and of course, many many naps.

At first, she was almost as fast with only three legs as she had been with four. It was amazing how quickly she adapted, and if she saw a squirrel or a rabbit, she would chase it with just as much enthusiasm as ever, her front leg doing double the work.

After she lost her leg, I would still take both her and Jade out to chase sticks and balls, but Steve was now decidedly slower than Jade was. So every other throw, I would hold Jade's collar for two or three (okay, sometimes four) seconds to give Steve a head start. Jade didn't like this at all, but it seemed to work out.

For the last four years, both Jade and Steve have lived with my parents. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude. Thank you!! I was in China for three of those years, and for the past year, I and my wife Sonja have gone over there almost every weekend.

Recently it was hard for Steve. As many large dogs do, she had hip problems. With only three legs, and with worsening arthritis in her hind legs, she got slower and slower. After a while, she just didn't have as much interest in chasing sticks and balls. That was not her thing anymore. But back then she was still an enthusiastic "pull-the-thing" player. So it was challenging for me, trying to maintain a game of "pull-the-thing" with Steve, while at the same time throwing the ball for Jade. Anyway, we managed.

Later, each time we took her on a walk, she wouldn't go quite as far as the preceding time, before deciding to plop down and rest. She would sit and look at Jade and me, as if to say, "You two go on ahead, I'll wait here for you till you come back." So we did. But if we ever disappeared from her view, she would struggle to her feet and hop slowly along in the direction that we'd gone. As soon as she saw us again, she'd settle down for a bit more rest.

So we got a wagon for her. First we fashioned one out of a couple of hand trucks and a sled:



Later, we bought a great used Radio Flyer wagon, just like one that I had when I was a kid. It made a perfect carriage for the queen:



She loved to ride around in the wagon, and survey her domain.

Recently though, she even started to lose interest in playing "pull-the-thing", and that's when I knew that her age was really catching up with her. I think it hurt her teeth. I would pick up a stick, and walk nonchalantly past her, holding the stick within her reach. She would still make a token attempt to grab it, but that was about all she could manage. I would still, of course, try to pretend that she had wrested it from my grasp, and she'd hop a few feet in the other direction while I "chased" her. Here's our last game of "pull-the-thing", that we played yesterday on the beach:



Yesterday evening, after she had a nice dinner, we euthanized her, and she went away very peacefully.

I think everybody who knew her, loved her. We will miss you, Steve!!