On Losing a Friend

Anyone who has been as blessed with friends as I have knows about losing them. I have lost many myself.

Sometimes it is through death, or tragedy. Sometimes it is through joy as they open a new chapter in life. Sometimes there is a falling out, and other times it is simply a falling away. A move, a change of direction, a change of desire. Sometimes someone chooses something else, and sometimes it cannot be avoided.

What make losing this friend is the choice. My friend is 18. He is has always been patient and calm. he has always been loyal and he has always loved my family. He has also been a huge part of the family even though he elects to eat off the floor rather than at the table with the rest of us.

Kuma is half-golden retriever, half-mutt (I guess that makes him all mutt, really) and he looks like a bear. His name even means "bear" in both several Native American Languages and Japanese. (Don't tell me there wasn't a land bridge).

18 years is a long time for a dog of his size. He came to us the way our pets tend to... second hand. Growing up as an outdoor pet of the directors of the summer-camp in our town, he needed a home when his previous owners moved away. We gladly took him in, having known him all his life as the Kuma the Camp Dog.

One might expect a dog who lived his whole life outside to be more wild or savage than the average domesticated canine, but Kuma has been anything but. I remember the first day he lived with us in his "retirement home." We opened the door for him, and beckoned him to come in. He sat on the stoop looking at us with an expression of "wait... really? I can come in?" It wasn't long before he realized he didn't have to dart into the house to keep from being stopped. He quickly came to trust us, even though he hated anytime I had to give him a bath.

He quickly became a permanent part of family. Always happy to see us when we came home, dropping to his elbows when my father or I got down on all fours and growled at him playfully, and the outside dog part of him still showed up with a "gift" of a dead chipmunk from time to time.

Over the years, he has slowed. In Dog years he somewhere in the vicinity of 126 years old. His hearing went a few years ago, but he kept trucking. His ability to chase deer and small rodents also faded. We found that over time, even when he was exictedly asking you to throw a tennis ball for him, he would chase it once then wander off to relieve himself instead of returning the projectile.

In the past couple of years he has stopped moving around so much. He spends most of his time sleeping, and the rest of it trying to. He used to roam all over the house, but now he mostly sticks to the front hall and the living room, with the occasional trip to the kitchen if he smells food.

What hasn't changed is his eyes. Kuma has eyes more expressive than I have ever seen on an animal. One of my best human friends often comments on how expressicve and human Kuma's eyes are. They are very telling, expressing surprise, joy, weariness and love.

As Kuma has begun to fail more and more, I have taken several opportunities on trips back home to sit with him and say goodbye. What makes it odd is that he seems to be in no pain, and seems to know I am there... he is, simply, just failing.

So I sit here at the end of Kuma's time in this life. It is an odd feeling. He has lived a good life, and we have given him a good home. But he has given us something much less tangable... and much more valuable. He gave us a friend. One who was always patient and loving, always kind, never boastful, and always happy to see us... even when we are about to give him a dreaded bath. And anyone who knew him will remember him by this.