Bear, part lab and part chow, was a member of my family for 16 years. He started his life as a cute little bearcub, brought in to keep the infant grandson company. He wasn’t working out well in a town environment; he didn’t like being tied up and was constantly digging holes to escape being fenced in. We didn’t want the responsibility of a dog and didn’t feel like we’d be good owners, but we agreed to take him at our country house. I worried he’d wander off or get attacked by a cougar or bobcat, but that never happened. Bear bonded immediately with the property and often slept in his house, or if it was really cold, he’d sleep under the big house by the furnace ducting. You couldn’t see him under there, but sometimes he’d bark and it would be as if the house itself was barking, a surprise for visitors. Bear, though big (about 80 pounds), was a friendly guy, he loved virtually everyone. When he was happy to see you, his whole body vibrated. He was a great watchdog and he never barked unless a stranger was around. If he was barking, then you knew someone was near.

Bear lived a long life. Partly, I believe, this was because he never got overweight. He never got overweight because he didn’t like the cheap dry dog food we fed him. He got wet food a few times a week as a treat, particularly as he got older, but the mice, squirrels and Stellar jays got more of his dry food than he did. It was entertaining to watch the noisy jays line up to help themselves to his dish, this was a daily affair.

I used to take a morning walk, and he would join me. He always wanted to be in the lead, but I had two routes and he never knew which way I was going to take. It was always amusing to watch him try to lead, but hedge his bet when the paths diverged.

He was a trouble-free dog, except for the two occasions where he tangled with a porcupine. I blame this on the neighbor’s dog, Chelsea. Isn’t it always a woman that leads a man to trouble? You’ve never seen a dog so miserable as when he has hundreds of quills stuck in his nose and his paws. It was a sad sight and I wasn’t going to put up with it if he had the porcupine problem a third time, but it never happened, apparently the lesson sunk in. Better to keep one’s distance from a porcupine, old timer.

Bear was free to wander and when he was young, it was surprising how far away you might catch a glimpse of him. Miles. All the neighbors knew him and he got along.

When Stacey bought her house, she was ready to take the Beardog back. He was bonded to the property, but I felt like the choice should be his. How could this be done? I devised a method. With Stacey on the phone, I explained the situation very clearly. “Bear, if you want to go to Stacey’s house, then turn up your nose at this roast beef. If you want to stay, then gobble up this roast beef.” I put the roast beef in his bowl and it was instantly gone. The matter was settled. As part of our routine, we brought him back bones and left-overs from our dinners, he always enjoyed those treats.

Bear had an unusual friend. The first time Judy saw the outdoor cat, he was on the porch. His size and coloration were very similar to Seymour, our tabby. Our cats are never (never) allowed outdoors, so when the cat was on the porch, she wondered how Seymour got out. Even with Seymour beside her, she had to look, look, and look again to figure out the mystery. The outside cat was feral; he would not allow anyone near him. Touch the door knob and he’d be gone. However, he and Bear were great friends. We were constantly amused by how Bear would patiently put up with the cat’s antics, crawling on him, weaving between his legs and batting at his nose to try to get him to play.

When I decided to move us closer to town, it was worry to figure what to do with Bear. He was getting older, moving slowly, and his hearing and sight was poor. However, he was happy and it was a shame to disrupt his environment. Our daughter (Stacey) agreed to take him. But, what about the outdoor cat? We decided to catch him, have him neutered and take him so he and Bear could be together. We wondered if the cat would simply disappear. I caught the cat in a live trap and he beat himself silly trying to escape. But the vet did the job and the cat was released in his new home. There is plenty of tall grass and the cat is a great hunter, so good for the cat, but too bad for the field mice. The first view Stacey had of the cat was seeing it leap in the tall grass to catch prey. Eventually, the cat made himself at home and was often hanging out with Bear. Bear is the only dog I’ve ever seen that had his own pet cat. The accompanying photograph shows outside cat escaping the snow by perching on top of Bear.

Here’s a "Bear" memory from our daughter Stacey:

It always used to crack me up the way Bear would follow us around the lake when we were 'fishing' in the rowboat. We could never coax him into getting in the boat with us, but he would always run through people's yards and out onto their docks to keep an eye on us wherever we went.

Here’s a "Bear" memory from our son David:

The first time Bear ever followed me on one of my little adventures around the lake, I was on my bike. I didn't want him to follow me because I felt like he'd slow me down. As such, I wanted him to give up and go back home close to the house so he wouldn't follow me out miles away and -then- lose me. So I got out on South Shore, and rode as fast as I possibly could, rounded the first corner so I was out of sight, and hid. He immediately found me. I tried again to lose him, and once more. After the third time of him tracking me down without visible sign of effort, I conceded and determined that if I could not lose him while TRYING, I probably couldn't without trying. Literally dozens of hikes and bike rides later, and not only did he never slow me down, but the idea of going anywhere without him was a bizarre and unfathomable concept.

Bear’s hind legs were giving out. He could patrol his domain if he was up, but if he went down, he was helpless. Get him back on his feet and he was okay for a while, but if he went down, he was stuck, barking and pooping himself. It was time for him to be relieved of his suffering.

I miss the old guy and feel guilty that I didn’t spend more time with him or treat him better. Plus, I’m getting older too. One day, too soon, it will be my time to move to the next world. This was on my mind when I wrote the first section of my novel "Steel Waters". It’s a sad story, but that’s how life works. I’m a sentimental old fool, but I’d like to think Bear’s spirit is on patrol somewhere with his stubby tail wagging furiously.

Outside cat is wandering around, meowing and wondering what happened to his best friend. Rest in peace, old buddy, we miss ya.