Hello,
We said “good bye” last Wednesday to my old dog Duncan. It was a sad day.
Twelve and a half years ago I drove from Sioux Falls to Mason City, Iowa to pick him up. I had found him on the internet when I typed in “Gordon Setter puppies.” There aren’t a lot of Gordon Setter breeders around, but I like the way that they look, so I went hunting, and a great hunt it turned out to be.
Duncan and I lived a lot of life together. We carried each other through a lot of storms. The first storm was on the trip home from Mason City, where we were driving into a line of tornados. The approaching sky was as dark as I had ever seen it, and the radio was warning to take shelter. And so we did. We got off the interstate and went into the lobby of a hotel, and the tornado bounced right over us. After it passed, we went back outside, and when I put Duncan down to unlock the car, he trotted away from me. Even as a little puppy he moved faster than me, and being skittish of strangers he kept on walking away from me as I called him. For some reason, he stopped for a moment, and I was able to pick him up. I thought I had lost him even before we got home.
Not too many days after we got home, we took him for a walk in the park across the road from our house, and as we entered the park a guy on a bicycle came at us. Frightened, Duncan pulled away from me, and he slid out of his collar that was too big for him. He took off on a run up the four lane road, as I tried to keep up with him. Fortunately, someone in a Suburban saw us ahead of him, and he stopped his car and the traffic behind him so Duncan wouldn’t get hit. Luckily, he got himself cornered in a fence, and I was able to pick him up.
It so happened that we got him as I was dealing with a bout of depression, and he turned out to be my buddy when things were dark. He wouldn’t let me hole up in my house, telling me often that he and I needed to go for a walk. Every time I came home from work, there he was greeting me with unmeasured joy. He would keep me company when loneliness would try and take hold of me. He helped pull me through.
Not that he was always an angel. He had a thing for chewing shoes, and I think I went through 3 pairs of tennis shoes in the first couple of months that we had him. And when we went to the dog park, he had a habit of stealing other dogs’ toys, and playing keep away from me as I tried to get them back. He had a mind of his own, and if he wanted to stay outside, there was no cajoling or trickery with food that would coax him in. And if he wanted to play and wasn’t getting the attention that he thought he deserved, he would go into the laundry basket and pull out a sock and bring it in front of me and start to chew on it. He could be a stinker.
Duncan and I lived a lot of life together, life enough to fill a multitude of Bungee Cords. But about a month or so ago he stopped eating. We took him to the vet, and cancer was discovered in his lungs. “Feed him anything he will eat,” the Vet said. And so we did. Suddenly his menu was much more gourmet than dry dog food. He perked up, and although he didn’t return to his normal energetic self, he still would go out and play and go for walks. But we could see him slowly getting weaker and weaker as the days went on. Still he was a great friend, blessing us with his companionship. Last week, he wouldn’t eat a thing, he had a hard time walking, and his breathing was labored. “Have you had enough, buddy?”, I said to him. It was time.
So, I said to him as he lay on the couch, “Do you want to go for a ride?” He raised his head from the couch and gave it a tilt, as he always did when you said, “Do you want …” I went over and picked him up and carried him to the car. I couldn’t hold back the tears. Kate drove, and when we got to the Vet, I opened up the back door of the car and picked him up again. Even though he was feeling awful there wasn’t a twinge of fear in him as I picked him up. He had come to know how much I loved him. I carried him into the exam room and set him down. He stood there sort of slouched over. He was worn out. The Vet was tremendously compassionate, and after giving him a sedative injection, she left us alone with Duncan.
“Good bye, buddy,” I said to him as he fell asleep. I wept.
I learned something from Duncan last week, and that is when you are in the arms of one who you know loves you, you don’t need to fear, even when death is near. If Duncan can have that much confidence in facing death as he was held in the hands of a human, I know that I can have that same confidence as I am held in the hands of God when I face death.
Thank you, Duncan.
Have a great week.
God’s grace and peace, (ggap)
Pastor Jerry Nuernberger
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