Bear was amazing. I don't know what to say about him - there's too much. He died October 12, 2006. It was sudden. And I think that was the worst part. I wasnt expecting it. He was only seven, and perfectly healthy. He ripped up a towel and ended up eating some. Thats what killed him. And after I heard, I saw that purple towel lying on the floor. The towel I used to wipe him off with when he came in from the rain, the towel he carried around in his mouth and brought to me, sitting down and staring at me with those big brown eyes. I thought I'd be angry. I thought I'd want to rip the towel to shreds. But I simply picked it up and threw it away. I never knew you could love a dog as much as I loved Bear. I cant even describe the depth of how much I loved him. Its impossible. There's no words for something like that. Its something felt and remembered forever. I rememebr lying on his tummy in the afternoon sun, watching K-9 to Five on Animal planet on Sunday mornings. Its that warm feeling I got just seeing his face. That melting sensation that I felt when he looked in my eyes. Something like that can never be replaced. And never forgotten. Its September 24 2006. Has it really almost been a year? A YEAR? How have a survived? How have I gone on? Is it possible that I made it this long without Bear? I didn't think it was possible. But obviously life goes on. Somehow. You know what I hate the most? How much I took him for granted. I guess everybody thinks that when somebody they love dies. But, I remember one time in particular, its haunted me. I was on the computer, talking with friends, doing something totally unimportant. Bear comes over next to me and sits down. He paws my leg and I look over smile, but I don't pet him. He paws me again. "Not now boy" I say. "Not now." Not now. And now I would do anything to be able to hold him again. Its a terribly sinking feeeling knowing I cant. Blackie was our other dog. The second dog. We had had Bear only a year when we found Blackie, a stray. Bear at first was skeptical, not knowing what to do with another dog in the house. But that phase was breif. They soon couldnt be seperated, racing around the yard together. I would walk them on summer evenings, just breathing, and loving our time together. Blackie is a great dog. I can't lie and say I didn't put Bear first, because I did. Bear will always be my baby. He was a much a more personal dog then Blackie is. Blackie was obviously abused and frightened. You could hardly tell that now. At this very moment he has his furry head lying on my foot. And the new puppy. A wiggly black lab who pounces on Blackie's head at random times. Right now his little paw rests on Blackie's head, and he's saying 'plase play with me'. Blackie good naturedly wages his tail and rolls over, half heartedly play biting Shadow's head. In the year after Bear left me I got to know Blackie better then I had ever known him. He had always lived in Bear's shadow, but happily enough. I needed someone to cry with, to hug and love. I needed Blackie and he was there for me. Black fur covered my clothes and the bed. I didn't care. He's a great dog. I never truly realized how great. And I love him more then anything. He has the sort of intelligent looking eyes that you don't see in many dogs. It looks like he knows what I'm thinking all the time. Its almost unsettling, but comforting in a strange way as well. Shadow's eyes are much like Bear's. I think labs and goldens arn't really all that differant. Shadow's eyes are warm and brown. They make me melt. He's mastered the puppy eyed look. And I love him too. But Bear. Bear I loved beyond anything. One thing I can't say about Shadow, is that I have memories with him. Well, yes the past few months. But Bear, I had a life with. I went through life changes and difficult times and his smiling face was there through it all. He was a constant. And I guess thats really what through me off. Bear was something reliable, like a rock I knew he was there. But then he was gone. I remember the day he died. It was like any other day. Really it was an average day. Bear had been at the vet's but they had reported that he was doing well. I knew he was having surgery. It never even occured to me that he could die. Until that afternoon. I don't know why I thought it, but I thought "Bear could die". It was like a blow, a singularly deafening blow. The kind that blinds you, or gives you a black eye. I prayed then. Its strange. I think it had occured to me before that Bear might not live, might not make it, but up until that point I had never truly believed it. Right then I did. And thats what shocked me. Even so the night before I had written in a diary I hadn't touched in months. I wrote about Bear, how much I loved him, and my last line had been "Please, God don't take my dog away." I don't know why I wrote that. I don't know if I knew. I found myself distracted the rest of the day. When I took care of the horses I wasn't playful or happy like usual. Not quite somber, but almost forcefully happy, like I was acting in a play, not like I was doing a daily task. That evening I watched "West Side Story". I don't really know why. I had discovered the movie weeks before, and foudn I loved it. It was during that scene where Maria and Tony are singing on the balcony, "Tonight, tonight there's only you tonight", that my Mom came home. There was something wrong. I already knew. It was like a shadow came over the room. I stopped the movie, shut off the TV. I should have prepared myself, because I think I was expecting it in some weird way. "Katie," Oh, God don't say it, please don't say it, "Bear died." Her voice cracks and I crash to the floor. Where are the tears? I remember thinking. In a rush, a flood they come, pouring down my cheeks. I was hystercial. I started shouting, screaming, 'not bear, not bear'. It was impossible. Its just something that didn't happen. It wasn't a question. It was impossible. I found myself asking stupid things 'are they sure?' My sister comes out and she starts to cry. But not like I was crying. This was my dog. My baby. I feel sick, I go to the bathroom, I want to throw up but I can't. I collapse on the sofa, sobbing. I've never felt to helpless, so sickeningly useless. Thats when I see the towel. Tears still rolling down my cheeks, I silently throw it away. Sipping hot tea I turn back on the movie. Next scene. "Make of our hands, one hand, make of our hearts one heart..." Tears. Bear. No. "Even death won't part us now." I think the irony hit all of us who were sitting there. We were all crying silently. The frog in my throat was painful. That night I cried so much. I didnt know I had that many tears in me. A few days later, I had a dream. I remember that dream like a memory, all hazy and warm. Bear's standning at the door, I let him in. And he runs in, feathered tail wagging this way and that. Even in sleep I think I must have smiled, must have laughed, because I remember a happiness I can't describe. Blackie and him are running around the house. Things are good again. And I know everything's going to be okay. He jumps into the big chair with me and I hold me tight, the feel of his soft fur in my hands. I yell to Mom, the biggest smile spread across my face, "I knew he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." And now its been a year. Almost a year. And the pain's still there. I can't stop myself from asking, does it ever go away? Does this frog in my throat ever leave? I don't know. But the pain has certainly lessened. It will never leave. But its numbed by things like hearing Blackie howl, or Shadow's puppylike whimpers. Bear was an angel. A truly innocent angel. I comfort myself with the knowledge that there is nobody in the world who could have loved that dog more then I did. My Bear. My Best Friend. Now and always.