Hello, Goodbye.

It was around 10pm on a Sunday night when Lonestar died at home, in our arms.  We knew she was very close to the end, but we had no idea it was that close or that it would happen like that.  We were heartbroken and I couldn't sleep for anything.  After we buried her in the backyard and said our good-byes, I sat on the couch and just wrote and wrote, remembering and cherishing all the good times we had with her.

~ ~ ~

Lonestar,

You breathed your last tonight. You have been the friendliest, sweetest, sneakiest, prettiest, happiest, softest, cuddliest, most determined dog that I've known. You first came to us in the summer of 2005 and we loved you for six wonderful, furry years. The first few weeks you were with us were our last weeks at our rental house... and our landlord refused to allow dogs in the house. (We were about to move into our first home on Lonestar Lane in Hideaway, TX -- where you got your name.) So you sat outside that first rainy, summer day with your nose pressed to the screen door, eyes pleading to come in.

The rest of the summer was spent surviving the heat. And since we didn't have the plastic blue kiddie pool yet that all dog owners must one day come to acquire, you made due by climbing into a rubbermaid storage bin full of ice cold hose water and loved every wet second. You loved being wet. You loved baths and quickly discovered the pleasure of trying to pounce the hose water as it sprayed full blast into your mouth, the water needles throwing your jowls in all directions. You loved to run and play and you were the most beautiful dog.  I loved seeing your smile.

That fall was spent playing outside and eating scraps from the grill when Art cooked.  Winter was spent cuddling inside, where you could usually be found by the hearth of the fireplace.

Not long later, we discovered you were in heat. We tried to contain you, to leash you, to chain you... but you were determined to get out and mingle. We would come home after work to find time after time that you'd dug out from the sprawling, fenced backyard. We tried every trick in the book, none of which phased you. We ended up leashing you to a stake in the ground, only to come home and find that you'd dug the stake out of the ground, then dug a hole under the fence and made a run for it -- the leash, chain and stake dragging behind you all the while. That time, you were after a cat in the neighbor's wood pile. It was mid August and 100 degrees that day, and I didn't get home until 11pm. I found you dehydrated, panting and whining with the leash, chain and stake woven around the wood pile, revealing your mistaken trail. After that, we got an electric wire for the fence and you never tried again.

We soon found out that on your other escape routes, you must have found a fella. Because in March you gave birth to 8 puppies (plus a 9th that died shortly after birth, which you tried desperately to save). You were the best mama to those puppies. You licked them incessantly. You nursed them until you were exhausted and sore and raw. You watched them intensely and smiled when they played. We found good homes for them and you were happy to see them go, really. "Go! Go! Play!" Reese, of course, went to Suzanne. And Shrek, we kept. And you guys were best buds. You dug that backyard together like it was your job. And you hunted it, too. Squirrels and mice, beware. Gophers, be warned. Birds, be gone. I think you caught one of each, although I imagine you tell tall tales to your dog friends of the many more you treed.

Soon we moved to your favorite house, on Tanglewood Drive. A small lakehouse on a small lake. Which may as well have been the ocean in your eyes. Swimming, we found out, was your true love. You would swim until you couldn't swim anymore. As soon as our fingers opened the latch to your gate, you were off. Sprinting toward the dock, full speed ahead, finally reaching the edge, you would soar, your four legs fully outstretched, landing with a huge splash and an even bigger grin into the refreshing reservoir. It didn't matter if you were chasing a ball, a stick or just jumping for fun. You would run and jump and run and jump and run and jump. Shrek, on the other hand... he would slowly creep to the end of the dock, scared as a mouse. As he got close to the end of the dock, he would hunch over and inch back toward the shore, where he'd find footing and finally enter at the "zero depth" entry spot. Nevertheless, once Shrek was in, he could catch up quickly and more often than not, he would reach the toy or the stick first and you guys would play tug of war with it while swimming playfully back to the grassy shore. Repeat this a dozen times and you've got a happy afternoon with our dogs.

Of course, sooner or later you figured out there were other places in the neighborhood to discover. Many of our swimming escapades ended with you guys taking off into the meandering neighborhood, with Art or me walking, running, yelling or driving after you. And we always found you together, galavanting around the park or swimming at the fishing hole. It's a miracle you never got hit by a car.

At the lakehouse, our first child was born, a son named Elijah Arthur. You have always treated kids with the utmost care, very gentle and friendly and calm. And so you were with Elijah. You would lay by his swing when he cried and quickly learned to play second fiddle to our little bundle of love. You didn't seem to mind, though. You would lay out in your pen watching (barking at) the boats go by and talking to (barking at) all the (old) people (and squirrels). Boy, this neighborhood had a lot of squirrels. As Elijah grew, you learned that your toys, your beds, your paws, your ears... all were subject to being touched, crawled on, pulled at and otherwise messed with by this little person. And you were to stay. Stay very still. And you did! You were very, very sweet with Elijah. (Shrek, even more-so. He is very protective of babies, always watching for cries or intruders. You raised him good, sweet mama.)

In 2009, you made the drive up to West Michigan when we moved yet one more time. We were sad you no longer had a lake to romp around in, but happy to have a huge backyard with lush, green grass. Oh, how I love northern grass!! You loved to play outside. Soon the snow came, which totally stumped you and had you paralyzed at the back door, refusing to go outside in the cold, wet, funny looking stuff. But, soon enough your bladder won over your mind and you had to go out. And after about the third time, you discovered it wasn't going to harm you. I wouldn't say you ever really loved the snow, but you certainly had some fun times tromping through snow drifts twice your height and running around fluffy white piles of winter wonderland. But you were always happiest to come back inside and curl up by the fire, or sneak your way up onto the couch. You loved to snuggle. In bed, on a chair, on a couch... you would lay next to me as long as I'd let you. It was a fun year watching Elijah grow and play with you guys more and more. One of his favorite things was to wiggle his way in between you two when you were lying next to each other. He'd pet you both at the same time and be so happy that you were all together.

February of 2011 brought our second child, Mary Helen, followed by a new home in April. Once again you were great with babies and continually endured Elijah's antics. He was getting bigger and his attempts to ride and climb you became more difficult to tolerate! We got to take you out on some walks in this neighborhood, and you loved to run around here, discovering the field behind us or the nature trail across the road, or the neighbor dog a few houses down. Out solo, you would usually stay nearby, but once Shrek got out, you were long gone with him. I really didn't mind ever, I knew you'd come back and was glad you had the chance to run and play. More and more, you were getting sick. Tired, not eating, listless. Finally in October we took you in and the veterinarian said you had Lymphoma. We tried a couple different medicines, but you just were not responding. You would have a few good days and then a few really tired days. Through it all you'd get these spurts of energy... you went on a 45-minute escape run with Shrek, another day you stayed outside by the wood pile "hunting" who-knows-what for over 4 hours one afternoon, and several times (once for trick-or-treating) insisted on trying to come on a walk with us around the neighborhood. I had to turn around and take you home because you could barely walk. We made two appointments with the vet to have you euthanized, only to cancel because we were going to try a new medicine or because you seemed to perk up a little bit and we wanted to give you another chance. The vet said this is how Lymphoma goes... dogs live for a while and just have a couple good days, a couple bad days, a couple good days. We thought you had a few more good days left. That was Wednesday. Thursday and Friday you were a bit better, but Saturday morning you started declining again.

Sunday night, November 6, we came home from small group and you were tired, barely moving and breathing with difficulty. We got the kids to bed and I sat with you on the floor, we did everything we could to try to prop up your head and help you breathe. I sat with you for a while, massaged your neck and ears. You were wagging your tail and it seemed like you even smiled at me one time. But I knew you were at the end. You had refused food and water all day. Suddenly, you got up and tried to make it to the door. You collapsed halfway there. Art carried you outside and I got up to look up information on taking you into the emergency animal hospital. I didn't think you could survive the night. After only a few moments, Art came to get me and told me you were dying. We went outside to be with you as you took your last breaths. We had no idea you were that close, you never whined, never vomited, never had any signs I imagined a dying dog would show. You were just done. I was terribly sorry that we didn't make the call earlier, for your sake. It's just a horrible decision to make, and there just seemed to be glimmer of hope after glimmer of hope. In the end, I was glad that you died in peace it seemed, in our arms, in our loving arms. We are so, so sad that you are gone. We will always miss you. But we are so happy for the time we had with you. You were the best dog. The absolute best.

These pictures were taken in your last week with us.  We miss you so much.