Dakota

Tough, handsome, intelligent, part mule, protective, loyal, afraid of nothing but a can of flea spray, he was everything a German Shepherd Dog should be.

Early on, he learned to be patient with members of that lesser species who always seemed to spend their time doing foolish, unimportant things when they could have been throwing sticks into the water for him to chase. He tolerated cats and small children like a gentleman, but he often threatened squirrels with just what he would do if he ever got a paw on them. Other dogs knew he was not to be trifled with instinctively even if he always did let them pass, though reluctantly, baffled by the command to let them go with everything intact.

There should have been more fields in which to run, more cows to intimidate, more woods to explore; but given the choice, he wanted nothing more than the presence of his inseparable companion who loved him fiercely.

He took his battle with chronic renal failure as just another part of life, gradually slowing down but always determined to do his job of fending off strangers and taking his human for walks. Until the day came when his great heart was so ravaged by disease that he couldn't do either. He didn't have an easy death; renal failure isn't kind and it's not an easy way to go, especially when the human half is in denial.

But Great Compassion took him and he's waiting for me by the Bridge, I'm pretty sure, having himself a high old time with the dark-eyed ladies and the squirrels he still can't catch.