Bruce

Bruce was a happy, energetic, bouncing 12 week old black lab puppy when we got him from the Dedman Foundation. When my sons and I first saw this coal black bundle of energy come tumbling out of the kennel, it was love at first sight. He quickly settled in as a member of our family and filled the gap left from our 10 year old dog Jake, who we had to put to sleep just 3 months before.

Bruce was a quick learner. He house broke quickly, having only two accidents in the house. Sit, stay, come, and shake were commands he mastered in the first few weeks. He loved to put the run on Samantha, the family cat, who was used to being able to do anything to old Jake, and never get a response. But most of all, his passion was playing frisbee. For some reason he decided the backyard picnic table was his launching pad and his return area. After chasing down the frisbee, catching it in midair whenever possible, he would run back to the thrower, jump onto the picnic table, and launch himself off of it to eagerly chase after the next toss.

One day in February when he was 9 months old, I took him ice fishing with me. He had the time of his life exploring the countryside while I was fishing. That night he started throwing up. After an uneventful night we felt that he had gotten rid of whatever he had picked up the day before. When he started throwing up again, we got concerned and called the vet. The vet was unavailable for several hours during which time we watched Bruce deteriorate rapidly. When it was obvious the situation was critical, my wife and older son loaded him up and took off for the vet, hoping he would be there.

He died on the way, with my son petting him. The vet did an autopsy and found he had picked up a highly toxic mold that destroyed his liver, and he literally bled internally to death. We took small consolation in the fact that we were told that even if we had brought him in when he got sick the very first time, the damage had already been done and he probably would not have been able to save him. He was returned to us wrapped in a black garbage sack, which was really hard to see. Instead, his Rubbermaid food container made a nice sturdy coffiin for him.

The next day we laid him to rest in our back lot, next to Jake. Appropriately, it was blizzarding that day, as we sadly covered up the blue container. Later that spring as the snow melted, we kept finding reminders of our late friend: a dog pile, a tennis ball, a paw print in the mud. We had buried his beloved frisbee with him.

Even now I can see him, up in heaven, leaping off a picnic table, chasing down frisbee after frisbee, and happily returning it to another dog lover, playing the game for eternity.

Farewell, good friend.