Rest in Peace, my Happy

by Dennis
(Esbon, Kansas)

My wife and I needed to mail two letters, so on the cold, cold afternoon of Sunday, January 31, 2021 we got in the pickup and headed for Red Cloud, Nebraska. We lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere, just one mile from the Kansas-Nebraska state line. Surrounded by coyotes, we had lost our eleven year old white lab three weeks before, and had decided not to get another dog.

As I drove the eight miles north towards Red Cloud, I became aware of a large, white animal walking north towards Red Cloud. He was walking up the centerline of Highway 281...right in the middle of the highway. I thought at first I was looking at a charlois calf, but as I got closer I could see it was an absolutely huge, shaggy, burr-filled white dog. He was bigger than any dog I had ever seen. I stopped on the side of the road next to him, and he moved to the opposite side and stopped. "What are you doing out here?" I asked him. He looked at me with his beautiful brown eyes, and immediately crossed the road to where I was standing. He shoved his massive head into my knee as if to thank me for stopping. "Ok honey," I said to my wife. "This dog needs help. We will take him home, and tomorrow I will take him to the vet to find his owner." It was bitter cold that day. We took him home, and I laid a blanket on the kitchen floor for him. The next day I took him to the vet and asked her if she knew who owned this dog. She checked him for a microchip (he had none). Four days later she called me with the name and phone number of the owner. He lived twenty miles away, raised sheep, and he didn't want the dog back; "I have a younger dog, and the two of them keep fighting," he said. By this time I recognized how majestic this creature was. My wife and I had spent two hours pulling cockleburrs and devil's claws out of his matted fur. That's how Happy came to live with us. I had wanted to call him "Highway", but my wife wouldn't have it. "He won't want to be reminded of that lonely time walking up the highway. We will call him 'Happy'," she said.

My wife died on March 4, 2023 of pancreatic cancer. The previous owner told me Happy was eight years old. I knew he was an older dog, and the past six months his back hips have been weak. Evidently during the night my courageous Happy decided to chase another coyote that had gotten too close to the house. On Monday morning he was not waiting for his morning hot dogs on the patio, in his usual spot. I knew something was wrong, and went looking. I found him out in the pasture, unable to stand up, or walk. I brought my 165 pound majestic dog to the house and called the vet. She came out, assessed him, and recommended we put him down. He was twelve and a half years old. I love you Happy, and always will. After my lovely Alisa died, you were my best friend. When one gets old, one starts losing things. It's the mark of old age-loss. Good-bye Happy.