"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion." - Unknown.

            As long as I can remember, each morning when I woke up, I could expect to be greeted by a wet nudge from a moist black nose. When I finally opened my tired, heavy eyes, I would observe an over animated yellow lab’s tail trembling furiously. His deep brown eyes would ruin any sleep I had left and I would climb out of bed.  Who could go back to sleep after witnessing a face like that? As I began the journey out of my room, down the hall and stairs, into the kitchen, the sound of nails clicking on the wooden floor preceded my entrance. There he would expect my arrival, and wait for his beloved treat. Every morning we had this get-together. It was like adults meeting for coffee, our special time.  His treats were kept on the counter in a jar, and being a toddler myself, it was a daunting task to get him a treat without waking everyone else up. I scrambled up the drawer handles onto the counter, across the sink to the corner that the container was hidden in. I was as quiet as a young child could be. Soon as I got a treat out of the jar, I tossed it to him from the counter. It always landed about six feet from where he was actually sitting. He scampered, nails clacking across the linoleum floor for his reward. While he crunched furiously away at the prize, I jumped down from the ledge and scuttled up to my room. As soon as he was done, he would be trailing me as swift as his four legs could carry him. It wouldn’t be more then a few minutes until everyone else awakened, revealing to me now that we were never truly that sneaky.

            My dog, Zeke, was my best friend before I began school. We were inseparable. I would use him as my own personal furniture. Every time the television was on he was nearby, lying on his side, with me resting my head on him like he was my own exclusive pillow.  We would spend a lot of time in the green patch of grass we had for a yard. As soon as he would take a nap in the shade of a maple I would be right there next to him. Occasionally after our nap we would flip over rocks. I would peek in the hollow for bugs and he would stick his nose into the brand new divot and sniff. At any time I was riding my tricycle Zeke would watch lazily from the shaded area next to the house. Every now and then I would stop to play with his tail. I pretended it was the handle of a pump. He never gave a look of annoyance on his face. I would push it up and down and yet nothing. Not a growl, a snarl or a defensive move of any sort.  Being my protector was the greatest role he ever could’ve played. My mom always enlightens me with accounts of how she was never afraid to leave me alone with him, even when I was an infant. He was always so gentle with me and never tried to nip at me, no matter how much I pulled on his golden tail.  Once I was old enough to do things by myself we became even greater pals. He became accustomed to running with me while I was riding my bike, or anticipating my arrival at the end of the driveway as I walked up the road from the bus.

            My fondest recollection of growing up with Zeke was my rollerblading phase. The street to my house was a colossal paved hill, with a dead end bringing the road to a close at the peak. We never had any traffic, besides the residents of Bunny Court, so I was free to roam up and down the lane as much as I wanted. With my rollerblades strapped firmly on my feet, I would go down the hill. I treasured this pastime. However, I could only continue going down the hill until I got too exhausted to go back up. One day I had a plan to continue my fun all day long. I brought Zeke and his leash along with me down the hill. Once we reached the base of the hill he pulled me back up like a sled dog. We would do this once or twice a week. I always remember overhearing my neighbor, in conversation with my mom, saying how funny it was to see Zeke pulling me to the top and then trailing me back down. 

            In the spring of 1999, my dad got a job in a microscopic town called Eagle River, Wisconsin. I was miserable. I had to leave all my friends behind, all but one. I imagine the only one in our family that had an easy transition from a concrete forest to an actual forest was Zeke. He loved being able to run around free and not have a leash to confine him within his backyard. Sniffing every single tree for any scent he could find was his beloved pastime. Playing with me became obsolete because he loved wandering about the yard. We still played ball together and in the winter he pulled me up the hill, instead of on rollerblades, now in a sled. He was old, but I never contemplated I would ever have to part with my greatest pal.

            I arrived home from school to find Zeke awaiting for my onset on the front porch. I saw him from a distance, but I couldn’t believe what I set eyes on. Lying lazily was my dog, but he was white and his once jet black nose was faded brown.  What in the past had been a bulky and muscular bird dog was now a skinny dog that you were beginning to see the ribs on. This was the first time I had ever really noticed how old and frail he was. Knowing that he was becoming aged and could no longer do things he once was able to do just destroyed me deeply within.  He was no longer eating and becoming scrawnier and further feeble by the day. After a while he could no longer get up to go to the outdoors that he on one occasion loved. Finally my parents made the difficult choice to put him to sleep.

            I can recollect when we took him to the vet clearly. It was a luminous early summer’s day, which Zeke would’ve loved to sunbathe on the grass in. I climbed into our car and waited. As I watched my mom come out of the front door and down the stairs with Zeke, the moment became unreal. She helped him into the back seat since he could no longer do it himself. I was dreading the twenty minute ride to town. When we arrived at the Animal Hospital my mom asked me somberly, “Do you want to come in?” The look on her face said it all. She was grieving and looked as if she were near tears. She did not want this to happen just as much as me.

            “No,” I replied and the waterworks began. What in actuality was perhaps about twenty minutes seemed like a life span to me. When the techs brought him out in a black plastic bag, I began my hysteria again.  I hated this. Why couldn’t animals be like humans and live eighty-ninety years? Why did they have to pass on so early when they were so pure hearted and loving? This was so unfair. My dog treated me with more courtesy and respect then anyone I’ve ever encountered. He did nothing to deserve such a short existence.  I shut my eyes and kept them closed until we arrived home.

            We buried him in the back yard. I still go back there and visit him sometimes, like a widow going to visit her long lost husband.  I still believe to this day that I have not had another superior buddy then him. We grew up together, learned together, and moved on with our lives together. We shared an extraordinary bond. He was my dog, my protector, but predominantly my best friend.