The American Spectator

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In Memoriam

(Page 2 of 2)

The mother duck, waiting until the last minute, transmitted an indiscernible signal to the ducklings sending them in all directions. She turned on Seamus, waving her wings, quacking loudly and generally raising a racket. Seamus executed an immediate 180-degree turn and headed back to shore never to trouble a duck again.

Seamus's size, bulk and handsome head, dimensions loved by goose hunters, often caused us to joke about his search for his "inner Newfoundland." Whether crashing through the snow or chasing deer near our former home in Michigan, he was the embodiment of tremendous mass and momentum.

His mother, a diminutive Chocolate Lab, was a great hunter, but Seamus was not a very good "gun" dog. In fact, lightning and thunder scared him terribly. More than once, my wife and I were awakened in the middle of a stormy night as a large dark, dense form tried to get into our bed.

Harry Truman famously said, "If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog." We brought Seamus to town and found that he made friends very quickly, be they kids in the neighborhood or the dog lovers who would call us when he showed up at their front door several blocks away, having enjoyed a good stretch of his four legs.

A FRIEND'S ITALIAN grandfather used to say, "The more I get to know people, the more I like dogs." Yet, the more I am around dogs, the more I appreciate people. Dogs seem to bring out the best in Homo sapiens. Search dogs serve their masters who are trying to find survivors in collapsed buildings. Kennel clubs bring their dogs to entertain, engage or distract senior citizens in retirement centers. Seeing-eye dogs testify to the indomitable spirit of those without sight. Whenever I took Seamus for a walk or to a public event, I encountered innumerable friends who simply shared our affection for dogs. We're all for dogs.

This is not the first time I have had to undertake this sorry duty of putting down a loyal and loving hound. But it seems harder as I get older. Reminders of mortality, I suppose.

Inevitably, such a sad event prompts spirited theological debates in the family as to whether or not dogs go to heaven. Orthodox opinion says they do not, but the Heterodox push back hard. In the salvation of the world there must be a place for dear, beloved canine friends such as Seamus.

I miss the beast mightily. I hope I get to see Seamus again.

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