High Performance Dog Food, Supplements and Nutritional Products

The last act every good dog does is to break someone's heart. The special allure that draws man to beast has always been of interest to me. This article will be about two such attractions.

Charles Goodman, affectionately known by his friends as "Pockets", owned a Red Nose, chocolate colored Bulldog named "Tara". She was seven years old when diagnosed with terminal cancer. In spite of this gloomy prognosis "Pockets" spent well over $1000 trying to buy time for his friend. "Tara" received extra pampering and affection during her illness. Despite her obvious discomfort she remained as sweet and lovable as always.

Days before "Tara" died a big boar coon had the misfortune of crossing her path. With her canine teeth worn down to nubs and her lungs invaded by disease she skillfully sent a rough coon to his Valhalla. Her stub of a tail wagged proudly as she recaptured her youth one last time. Days later, with "Pockets" by her side, "Tara" quietly died.

I am proud of my lengthy association with "Pockets". I would not have gone to the extremes he did. In my eyes he has an uncommon sense of loyalty and compassion. Few of us will ever have a heart so large or cast a shadow so long. I hope the design of my words properly eulogize and pay homage to a big chocolate Bulldog named "Tara".

"Granite" was a funny-looking Patterdale pup; his head too narrow, his coat too long, and his body too short. I knew from the get go that he was long on courage and short on brains.

"Granite" lived for danger and conflict. The very sight of prey made his eyes dance with mischief and anticipation. Perhaps his desire to do battle stole my heart.

Memorial day weekend, 1990 -- both my Patterdales "Machito" and "Granite" accompanied me to my cabin in rural Pennsylvania. The dogs always enjoyed the freedom and smells of this particular area which is quite remote and rich with game.

I was exhausted from the trip and decided to go to sleep early. The pup followed me up to the sleeping loft. I changed the linen on the bed and eagerly awaited a well-earned sleep. I began to doze when the pup jumped onto the bed. I calmly explained to him that he had to be satisfied with the floor. This fell on his little deaf ears. I decided to bribe him. I took a thick gray bath towel and laid it next to the bed. I placed a giant rawhide bone on the towel. "Granite" promptly attacked the bone, tossing it about and transporting it around the loft, like a priceless trophy.

I don't know how long I slept but at some point during the night the pup was back on the bed; this time with the towel and the Rawhide bone. I decided to honor his determination and allowed "Granite" to curl up next to me.

I thought about the long weekend before us. I thought about how fortunate we were to be deep in the country at the very birth of spring. I thought about the adventures that lay before us and then sleep came.

The following day my "proud undefeated pup" lost two fights. The first one was to a porcupine. The second was to the drug the veterinarian administered to anesthetize him. I shrouded his tiny body in the big gray bath towel and drove back to Long Island to bury my terrier.

Ironically, "Tara" and "Granite" died two days apart and are buried approximately twenty-five feet from one another. Some dogs have a special aura or charm. In my religion it is called a "divine spark". When such an animal leaves us the loss can be comparable or even greater than the death of a close relative or a love affair gone bad. Both these dogs had that spark.

Some would say "Granite" was denied a soldier's death; a death beneath the winter's earth, fighting a duel with a varmint many times his size. I am grateful his end came softly without pain or suffering.

"Granite" was about nine pounds when he died. He was so tiny I buried him in a flower bed directly in front of a wall laced with stone and covered with ivy. This spring I surrounded his slate marker with bright colored flowers, which are visible from my kitchen window.