歪歪漫画

Hug your pet for me, would you?

Doesn鈥檛 that feel good? Those critters that never seem to run out of love for us deserve lots of love in return.

I鈥檝e had a rough go these last couple weeks since the passing of my dog of the last 12 years, Tonto. That big black lab has had such a huge presence in my life. It's easy to feel the void.

If I pop a squat in the yard somewhere, I still expect that he鈥檒l come rumbling over to shove his big head under my shoulder and try to lift me off the ground. He was so strong. I expect him to be anxiously waiting for me to fill his food bowl. He had an insatiable hunger. When I arrive home, I imagine he鈥檒l be there to greet me with tail wagging and a big toothy grin. He was always happy to see me.

He passed away Oct. 22, 2023, on a beautiful fall morning. A morning that would have been perfect for chasing pheasants or retrieving ducks from a pond.

I just have to tell you a little about this big dog.

Michael Johnson / Agweek

At his peak, he was 130 pounds of happy dog. He was a bit chubby at that weight, but was such a large and muscular dog that he didn鈥檛 let it show, too much. In his final days, he had fallen under 95 pounds and lacked much of the muscular stature he once had. That was hard to watch, knowing what he was once capable of.

A good friend of mine called to console me and recalled a time when we were hiking along the Missouri River in North Dakota. Tonto leaped off the bank of the river down below to where the water levels had dropped. It was what seemed like a 10-foot drop off. I peeked over to see him down in the water looking pleased with himself. My friend and I wondered how we would get him back with us as the bank was worn away for several hundred yards.

As I decided to start hiking down the river, Tonto suddenly leaped back on the bank from the water below. Both of our jaws dropped as I saw no way of that being possible. It was truly incredible.

Lyme disease left Tonto with some rather difficult changes to his health. His joints never seemed to return to normal and his high adrenaline days of hunting came to a close several years ago. Even though I kept flea and tick product on Tonto, he loved to spend so much time in the woods that getting bit was unavoidable.

Though running stopped, he still had to have his daily walks and interactions with the neighborhood. Some days I would grumble at the thought of walking in winter conditions. But I am thankful that Tonto made me do it. He helped me put on more miles than anyone or anything ever has. I even started running quite extensively after first getting him because he had an unending amount of energy. Later in life, it was just walking, but it was always much more than just walking.

Tonto was annoying to some. Leave a hand at your side and he would undoubtedly lick it for you. It was his way of saying 鈥渉i鈥� and was often followed by an expectation that you would scratch him behind his ear.

He was feared by others simply because of his size. He never had any thoughts of hurting anyone. Every mail or package delivery person at first gasped at the sight of him, but then came to love how much he looked forward to seeing them. Of course, treats were often involved.

When he passed away, I struggled to share the news with anyone. I knew he mattered to me, but I had forgotten how many people grew to love Tonto. In fact, it was clear that many people liked him more than they liked me.

When we lived in town, my daily walks with Tonto often included an interaction with a neighbor who most often greeted Tonto and sometimes acknowledged me. Many people in town would say how they grew used to seeing the big black dog walking around town with some man. When they got to know us, they would ask me how he鈥檚 doing.

When we moved out to the country, some folks told me how they would miss seeing Tonto. They couldn鈥檛 say the same for me.

I understand them. Dogs like Tonto just don鈥檛 let you down. Even when you find them eating birthday cake out of the neighbor's dumpster at 6 a.m. Even when they get sprayed by a skunk away from home and you have to put them in your car and drive home in a stench. Even when you bring them into work to meet coworkers and they urinate on the front desk. Even when he brings home the neighbor鈥檚 trophy buck skull.

Even though I at times got upset at him, he would never get upset with me. He loved me at my worst to the very end. When you find something like that, you've got to hold on to it. Squeeze it. Appreciate it. And if you have to let it go, pray that you'll find it again.