Today, we said goodbye to our dog, Hyder. This has been especially painful for Terry and for Marshall as well. Marshall named her after his favorite city in Canada. He and Terry consulted yesterday and assessing her condition of pain knew it was time . . .
I remember the little things,
Hyder was the dog who looked after the other dogs.
She was unpretentious and never one to push her way -- EXCEPT if another dog was trying to eat her dinner
She guarded our house as HER territory and would charge the front window when anyone dared to walk down our street. She was especially vicious when a dog DARED step on our property.
She loved to ride in the pick-up with the windows down.
She would often sit in the front seat and fall asleep - leaning on Terry.
She hated storms and would have get in our bed trembling every time it thundered, scratching on T's side of the bed unil he would hoist her up..
She was so very well house-trained that even in her last days as it was very difficult to walk from the breast tumors and arthritis -- she would get herself down the stairs and outside.
Hyder would wake up with me in the morning - come into my office where I was having my quiet time -- when she would smell my breakfast she was always there for a hand-out.
Yesterday, she got herself up and came in -- just like always.
Hyder had a place on her side that if you touched it she would wince and cry. . . there was something about people getting to close to her face that would get a reaction from her like this.
When she heard the garage door go up - Hyder would be at the back door waiting. . . that's the hardest part right now -- coming through the back door.
Marshall wrote this story . . .
This isn’t a sad story, but, many happy stories start from sad beginnings. Many years ago during a sweltering Oklahoma summer, a small brown dog laid alone off a country road in a shallow ditch. It was hot and it was dry. The little brown dog had been alone for many days. See, in this part of the country, there’s a cruel practice of abandoning unwanted pets in the country. I’m sure many like to think the dog will meet others, join a gang and perhaps learn to fend for themselves; for many if not most, this isn’t the reality. It certainly wouldn’t have been for the little brown dog.
Luckily, for the little brown dog, when things seemed at their worst, a car door opened. There stood a middle-aged man in front of a middle-aged truck. He opened the door the and the little brown dog jumped in and the two were off down the road like ole-time buddies. At that moment the two didn’t know about all the adventures ahead and the good times they’d share.
The little brown dog ate and slept and slept and ate. Soon the little brown dog wasn’t so little anymore. The man and the little brown dog had adventure after adventure. The two made many new friends. Some old, some young; some short, some tall; some black and some brown. The little brown dog and the man went on many adventures, traveled the country, ate fine foods and one of them even went to med school for a very short period of time. Most importantly though there was hour after hour in those old trucks with the windows down.
The man’s kindness was repaid in full. The brown dog was a constant companion and friend. She watched over the house day and night from squirreled invaders and the like. She provided comfort during many difficult times. The two lost many friends together, but they got through it as they always did: together. Then, after 91 years, full of adventures and friendship, the man and the little brown dog had to say goodbye. We all know however the two will be riding in an old beat up truck soon, windows down and smiling one warm afternoon.
