Gus is in Doggy Heaven.

Gus

Age 11, August 25, 1997 - March 23, 2009

Gus Gus, You have been our best friend for 12 years. We miss you and will love you always!

Nickname: Gus Gus, Bubba, Gusto, Gustapo Adolphus Wolf Puppy

"ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN" If not, Gus surely did. He was the kindest, gentlest, dog and everyones best freind!! He will be missed by all who knew him.

Sunlight streams through the window pane to an empty spot on the couch,
I could always find you there and now all I can do is just sit there and stare.
The vacant spot on the floor, the ringing of the bell on the door,
I will miss the way you hid your toys behind the couch
The squeaking of your favorite hedgehog you silly dog!
The way you would fetch your dish when you saw someone new
In happy hopes that they would feed you!
Rolling over, sitting pretty, left paw right paw shake
Will you just give me the darn treat for heaven sake!
Going to the cabin was your favorite place for fun
Because it was there that you knew you could run!
These are all places you used to be but now you are no more.
But I'll take that vacant spot on the floor and that bell that you rang on the door and put then next to your toys and your dish and wrap them in a blanket of my love and keep them for my best friend until we meet above

You will be missed!! Love Mandy

Tuesday, 5:30 a.m.
I awoke with a start and my first thought was “I forgot to let the dog out during the night”. I had gotten in the habit of doing that for Gus as he was getting older and sometimes didn’t make it through the night without needing to go out. Then It all came back!! There was no dog to let out. I remembered that the day before we had taken Gus on one last trip to the vet to put him down.

I had always joked when Gus was younger that if I were to apply for the job “Dog” I would never qualify because of my inability to go from 7 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. without a bathroom break. But Gus did it for years without complaint or accidents.

We got him from the pound as a pup. Officially on the record books he was my daughter Mandy’s dog. When we went to the pound neither my wife nor I had thought to bring our driver’s license and you need one of those now to get a dog. So he was Mandy’s dog as she reminded us. It didn’t really matter; he belonged to all of us.

In the Sixties, the Beatles sang “Can’t buy me love, everybody tells me so”. Maybe at the time they wrote that song, none of them owned a dog. You can buy love. It’s waiting for you at any dog pound in any city. You just plunk down some money, (don’t forget your driver’s license) and you can walk away with a companion that will give you unconditional love for a decade or more.

The first dog I ever owned was Buddy. He was also a black lab, he was a stray and came into our lives by accident. My wife had been lobbying for a dog for some time. She had had one growing up. I never owned one but in the tradition of husbands everywhere resisted the idea but eventually admitted that she was right, again.

Buddy didn’t like men at all and he didn’t like me either at first. I was a little afraid of a 65 pound animal with big teeth who growled every time I walked by but eventually we became friends after Cheryl suggested I be the one to feed him. With dogs, it’s all about food.

After ten plus years of faithful service we had to put Buddy down and I was amazed at how much it hurt. We lasted 72 hours, then admitted our addiction and went to the pound and brought Gus home.

I was more comfortable with dogs, so Gus and I were friends from the start. Of course I didn’t need to be smug about it since Gus was everyone’s friend. Oh, he might bark if a stranger came to the house but within five minutes he probably would have jumped in the stranger’s car and gone to Mexico. He was gullible that way and always assumed everyone was good at heart.

Gus slipped into lives with ease and for 12 and a-half years he was part of our family. He went riding on the Jet Ski, traveled in the motor home (and fought with Cheryl over rights to the shotgun seat). He rode on the pontoon boat and played in the snow at the cabin. He laid out on his lounger by the fire and looked up in amazement at the stars with the rest of us.

He wasn’t quite as likely to cuddle. But if you were lying on floor you might move your head back an inch and find that he had laid down just behind you, not touching but close enough to breath on you. Many times I never knew he was there until I moved.

The weekend we decided to let him go started out like any other. We packed up the car and headed to the lake. Gus now needed a ramp to get into the car and he climbed up it and onto his blanket.

Friday and Saturday he got around o.k. limping somewhat from his hip dysphasia which he had been living with for about a year. However, on Sunday he just couldn’t get up and we had to carry him outside. He had developed a cough too and we knew the time was near when we would be asked to do something that we did not want to do for the benefit of another. I guess that’s a pretty good description of what love is.

By Sunday night as we got home, it was clear he wasn’t getting any better. We carried him out of the car and laid him on the grass while we emptied the car. He just lay there and went to the bathroom lying down. He had held it for two hours in the car and that was the best he could do.

Cheryl slept downstairs with him Sunday night and decided to stay home for the day with me so we could both take him in together. His cough came and went and again we had to carry him outside and hold him up to do his duty.

Monday morning came and we called the vet and made the appointment for 4:20 p.m.

The day dragged on with Cheryl and I playing the role of priests praying with the condemned man on death row. We knew we could get a pardon from the Governor by just calling the Vet and canceling but our greedy desire for another day was over ridden by the certainty that Gus was suffering and needed us to be strong.

He wasn’t eating his dog food at all. Cheryl cooked him some bacon and he ate that down like lightning. I thought that if St. Peter guards the gates of Heaven for people then a St. Bernard should guard the gates of Heaven for dogs. The St. Bernard would sniff at the breath of every dog and only those with bacon breath would be allowed past the gates.

4:00 p.m. came creeping up on us and then 4:05 and finally 4:10 and reluctantly we had to go. Cheryl carried him out to the truck and we went over to the vet. I pulled in and there was a stranger outside and I didn’t want anyone around to see our distress, but as he saw that I was carrying Gus he held open the door and I mumbled my thanks.

We carried him into the room and waited for the vet. She came in and talked about what she would do and then gave him the shots that would end his life. We stayed with him to the end, talking and stroking his head. We bent down close to him and inhaled once more the sweet smell of puppy. Kissed his head and then tearfully left him there.

We will get his ashes in few days. We will spread them down at the lake under the pine trees where our other puppy dogs Buddy and Molly rest. Later when the grandchildren ask me where the puppies have gone I can truthfully tell them that they are up in the trees, fertilizing a new generation of life.

We lasted 72 hours the last time and the withdrawal pains are beginning again. Cheryl sits downstairs and hugs his blanket, rich with his smell and tells me in no uncertain terms not to wash it. Later, when she is asleep, I sneak downstairs and hug and smell the blanket myself, still damp with her tears. I add a few of my own, unashamed to admit that I loved him too.

I think that life is like drinking coffee. At first you are enticed by the rich aroma. You drink the first cup and it’s not quite as good as it smells. You continue drinking until the last bitter dregs are consumed. And then you start another pot.

Our life will go on. We will remember Gus as a special dog like no other. Each dog is different. Every dog will have his day.

Thanks old hound. May your dish be always filled with bacon, your water dish brimming with ice-cold water. May the Sun shine on your sleek black coat, and may you find new friends who loved you as much as we do. Just don’t let any strangers take you to Mexico.

Dad & Mom