I had the rare instance to be with my dog when he was born and when he died. George was born to a litter of 11 dogs in my backyard in South Carolina. As the pups were weaned, George would wake us in the morning howling for food. After all of his brothers and sisters were gone, George, the runt of the litter, was still around. He had this unbelievable zest for life, was curious, and hence his name George. Wherever we went, people loved George. He was so sweet, and funny. His personality shone through like a sunshine breaking through on a stormy day. Always happy! George knew when to console me with his head on my lap, and when to leave me alone. He loved hunting, chasing deer, ducks and fox. Near the end, he would come out of the bushes with a three or four foot bull snake in his mouth, and bring it to me. George, always the dutiful dog.

He could out run every dog, but he would sometimes let them win, or let them get the ball as we played fetch. George loved bread, and to gulp down bowls of water. He loved to swim, and he loved to walk me. He noticed planes in the sky and bugs and worms on the ground, and fish in a pond. He was with me during some of my brightest times and my gloomiest ones too! Those of you, who know me, know that I believe in Angels. George was as close to being an Angel on earth as I’ve ever seen. The night he died he entertained me with his antics of sleeping on his back, tip toeing around the house and pointing bunny rabbits.

After his kidney’s failed, he rallied to come home and for 10 days, I got to share a last time with George. He did not make me take him anywhere to leave us. He died on his bed, in my house, in a sweet and peaceful manner. He taught me a lot. His greatest lesson was that of unconditional love. Dogs know how to do that. He left just as he came, quiet and peaceful, in my presence. But oh, oh did he live!