My best friend died...

God loves dogs too much to let them go too long. They are given to us on loan. To love so unconditionally for so long is hard, and the reward is great. Now Bucky is back home. He's with my Toby and Casey, and it was good we had the years we had together with them. Good boy, Bucky....good boy
 
It gets harder and harder to open the "lost a friend" threads. It always reminds us of the one's we too have lost Paladin. I continue to believe that often their passing is harder on humans, than the passing of all but our closest (human) family members. The responses and sentiments posted indicate likewise.
 
One of the hardest things I've endured in my entire 53 years was putting Bear down. Wait an minute.......


....I've gotten something in my eye.

Gone but not forgotten.
 
Allow me to add my condolences and prayer that Bucky can find the Rainbow Bridge quickly.
 
Thanks, all. I'm now using that picture of my beloved dog as the background screen on my computer. I think it reflects his gentle, caring nature and his pluckiness. I still find it so hard to accept that he's gone. Again, thanks to you all for your support during my grief.
 
Crud Kim, sorry to hear.
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Chris
 
Kim,

Very sorry to hear of your loss. You know I feel for you. Dogs are special. I know you will always treasure the memories of your friend, as I do mine of Bucky. Consider this a virtual hand on your shoulder in deep sympathy.
 
Well, I feel bad for you (both of you, Kim). How lucky you are to have had such great animals in your lives, if even for just a while.
I know you will always remember them, as I remember my dear Woodstock, buried at the foot of our old driveway under a shady oak tree in the foothills of East Tennessee, Cody, buried long ago in Charleston, South Carolina, Mox, buried on a little island off the northern tip of Sardinia, Azhia, buried in the back yard of a rented house on Virginia's eastern shore....

May I leave you this?:
Where To Bury A Dog
There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

by Ben Hur Lampman
 
We had a Border Collie. Her name was Lady. She was as sweet a dog as you could ever find. She grew up with my children and lived to be 12.

There was one spot in our garden, under a bush, that she kept digging a hole to lay in during the hot days down here. We filled that hole back up and she would dig it out again. I filled the hole with bricks and she managed to remove each brick and dig the hole again. After years of loosing this battle, I just resigned myself to let her have her hole.

When she died, I buried her in her hole.
 
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