The definition of the word buddy is “a close friend”. I’m generally the last to call it a night in our household. Making the nightly rounds, I quietly mosey around, shutting off lights, locking doors, and for the past 13-years, giving our Black Lab, Pre, a light touch as he lay sleeping, and saying, “Goodnight buddy. You’re a good dog.”

As happens with dogs, they age quickly, and for the last several months we’ve watched Pre move further and further away from truly living as he liked to live towards simply being alive. Glimpses of the Pre that grabbed ahold of our hearts so many years ago grew fewer and further between.

The Pre that seemed to smile biggest when he was running full tilt was merely a memory. He found so much joy in running. He certainly lived up to his name sake, Steve Prefontaine. All out, ears flapping and flowing, giving it all he had. We would hike 5-miles and he’d run 30, up and back on the trail, as if to say, “You coming? Wait until you see what’s up ahead! Come on! Come on!”

The last few months he’d still get excited for his morning and evening walks. He’d show a little of his old bounce as we left the house, but betrayed by once swift and strong hind legs that now swayed and buckled, that excitement gave way to exhaustion and misery in a few short blocks.

Back in October of 2008, we went to the human society “just to look”. Taking two kids to the human society “just to look”…so it goes. I really didn’t know if I wanted a dog, seemed like too much of a hassle, and I never really would describe myself as a dog person, but then I met Pre.

We had went to look at a Siberian Husky, it was a beautiful dog, but didn’t seem to be a good fit for our family. Then we looked at a Black Lab named “Electra”, the name definitely fit, but again, she didn’t seem to be a good fit for us.

While each of us went our own way, browsing around the barking maze of kennels, I saw this Black Lab sitting quietly in the back of his kennel. I walked up to the chain linked kennel, the dog and I looked at one another, he walked to the fence and leaned his head against it. I reached through the fence, scratched his head, he leaned back and fixed his gaze on me as if to say, “Ok. I approve of you.” I went in search of the family and said, “I found one.”

In reality, he found us. I still wouldn’t describe myself as a dog person, but I am a Pre person. He suited me, he suited our family, he gave each of us all he had for 13-years. He was a quiet confidante for our daughter, he loved to roughhouse with our son, he was an ever-ready early morning walking companion for my wife, he was my buddy…my close friend, and I miss him. We all miss him.

He wasn’t a “cuddly” dog, wasn’t needy of constant attention, he simply liked to quietly be around his people. We were so very fortunate to be his people. He asked very little of his people, but he gave so much. Even when it became a struggle for him to pull himself to his feet, he would do so, just to offer his greeting whenever one of us would come home.

Over the past few months I told him several times as he lay motionless on his bed, “You can go Pre, we’ll be okay.” But in the end, after years of asking very little of us, we knew this was a decision his people needed to make for him.

On Monday, December 13th, we laid him to rest on his favorite bed, wrapped in his favorite blanket, next to his buddy Norm, my friend Paul’s Yellow Lab, the only dog Pre ever seemed to enjoy the company of. Norm’s been gone a few years now, but every time Paul would stop by the house, Pre would perk up and excitedly look for his friend Norm. Now they are together again.

Before Pre, I was one of those, “it’s just a dog” cynics, but Pre gently and quietly showed me how wrong I was. Pre was far more than “just a dog”, he was family, and we miss him deeply. Loving is not without risk of hurt, but I’m sure the rewards for loving Pre will eventually outshine all this hurt and leave a gentle glow in our hearts for the remainder of each of our days.

As I make the nightly rounds, I see his collar on the mantle, his empty bed in the corner, the smudges from his nose on the picture window, and sometimes…sometimes I see him.

Goodnight buddy. You’re a good dog.