Farewell, pal

Good-bye, old friend.
After 14 long and dedicated years, Montgomery, my faithful dog and companion, has headed to the great big Frisbee-catching yard in the sky.
To say I am a little bummed would be a bit of an understatement.
I got Montgomery at a pound in Alabama when he was a puppy. My girlfriend and I had been a dating a month or so, and for some reason decided, “Hey, let’s get a dog!”
When we got him, it’s almost a wonder he hadn’t been put down. He had rickets. And worms. And someone had tried to trim his ears, leaving them scalloped and scarred. And he was only five weeks old.
When I brought him home, we took the steps necessary to patch him up. Everyone saw him as this disaster of an animal, destined for a lame life. Turns out, he just had a bumpy start.
After a few months, he was healthy as could be. Quick and spry, he always wanted to play. I lived in a fraternity house at the time, and I found that if I left him unattended in my room, he would continue playing without me, and I would come home to find my room redecorated. On one occasion, I found him sitting in the middle of the room chewing on a can of Cheese Whiz he had found, his face covered in cheese. When I walked in, he pushed the can to the side with his paw and refused to look at me. I was laughing so hard that it took me a while to figure out he had taken down a whole bookshelf to get to the cheese.
But don’t get it in your head that he was a bad dog. Quite the opposite. But he had so much energy that I quickly learned he had to run. And I mean “had to.” It was something that was required by his soul.
It also became very evident that he was a natural fetcher. I found this out by accident, when he began bringing things to me all the time. Things that I had thrown out or pitched aside in my room. In no time, a tennis ball was his best friend. Someone suggested I try a Frisbee. First try -- he snagged it.
We became regulars on The Quad at the University of Alabama, Montgomery sprinting underneath his orange Frisbee, leaping high into the air to make the catch every time. He would run to the point of exhaustion. My girlfriend and I would have to make him take a break, walking him to a nearby water spigot to hose him down. A few seconds under the water, a good shake, and time for more running. This, too, was in his soul.
One of his favorite places to go was a place called The Creek. It was some land my aunt and uncle owned outside of town, and Montgomery would spend hours swimming in the creek, chasing sticks and just floating around. He would not stop until we were ready to leave, and he would spend the car ride home exhausted, fast aleep in my girlfriend’s lap.
When I moved to Orlando, it was just Montgomery and me. And he was always there for me. We walked and played in the mornings, at lunch and at night. On weekends, we would just go for strolls, milling around, finding sticks to fetch and play with. And he was never on a leash. Sure, I kept one with me in case of emergency, but I never had to use it. Yes, I know I should have still used it. But Montgomery was different. He never would have strayed from me. Even if he had run after a stick, a whistle and a quick call and he would be right there for me.
When I left Florida, Montgomery came back with me. I was 23, trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, moving back in with parents. Real high point in my life. And there was Montgomery. Just happy to be by my side.
A while later, I got married. Oftentimes, my wife has remarked that Montgomery is the reason we are together today. You see, she was that girlfriend years ago who helped me pick out Montgomery, and there were many of times when she realized she was dating a complete and total moron. But she couldn’t leave Montgomery. Me? An admitted dolt. Montgomery? A dog that you just couldn’t help but be attached to.
As our kids came along, Montgomery was getting up there in years. He didn’t jump quite as high or run quite as fast, but you could still see it light up in his eyes when you threw a stick or a ball. He got a little extra spring in his step when he saw it was time to just be Montgomery.
About two years ago, the vet removed some tumors in his mouth that were determined to be cancerous. Without extensive surgery, the tumors would return, most likely in a few months. But I opted not to have more surgery done, as he had been through enough. It took almost two years for the tumors to return, well beyond what anyone expected. Again, I had the tumors removed so that he could eat. They asked me if I wanted tests done. I told them no. I knew what the tests would say.
A couple of weeks later, I noticed a decline. Steep. He wouldn’t eat. He was sluggish. I went out one night and tried to get him to come inside. He stood up slowly, and slinked under the deck. He didn’t want to come with me this time.
I got up the next morning and just knew. I walked outside and found him, peaceful and looking as if he were asleep. My wife opened the upstairs window. “Is he...” She didn’t finish the question. She knew.
The phrase “just a dog” has never been in our family’s speak, and never so much was it clear that morning. My brother-in-law once said, “Montgomery just wants to be Mike’s dog.” And that he was. My dog. My good, faithful dog. He was Montgomery. Run fast and jump high, Montgomery. You’ve earned it.