The Duke of Escalante Oct. 29, 1995 - Sept. 4, 2008

"We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. Remote from universal nature, and living by complicated artifice, man in civilization surveys the creature through the glass of his own knowledge and sees thereby a feather magnified and the whole image in distortion. We patronize them (animals) for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate of having taken form so far below ourselves. Therein we err, and greatly err. For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. The animals are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth." - Henry Beston

My heart is broken. My friend, my old running and riding partner, my protector, my confidant, my first 'baby' - is gone. We have known it was coming for years, but as much as that makes it seem like it should be easier to say goodbye, it doesn't make it so. Knowing he was failing horribly doesn't make it easier. Feeling he is in a better place now doesn't make it hurt less.

We got Duke the summer that we got married as a hyper one-and-a-half-year-old from some friends that didn't have the time to put into training him. That was eleven and a half years ago. We already had an older Golden Retriever, Gert, that surprisingly took him under her wing. Between her training and Tyler's I hardly had to do anything. Duke came to work with me when I used to guide horseback tours and ran back and forth in front of the horses as we went - the same way he did when I took him running. It was like he couldn't help but run on ahead to see what was there, but he kept coming back to make sure I was still there. He must have covered at least twice as much ground with all his doubling back. If ever there was a dog whose physical makeup resembled 'Tigger', it was Duke. His 'bottoms were made out of springs'. He could jump vertically past my shoulders - from a stand-still, and would just because he was happy to see us.
Duke was all about being a retriever - if he didn't have a toy to be thrown he would find one - sticks (of course) and old water bottles were his favorite 'found' treasures. He would fetch as long as he could find someone to throw. If there was water involved there was no dog happier. He would leap with reckless abandon off of docks, the boat deck, rock walls, you name it. If you threw his toy - he would fly first, and then swim to bring it back.

Thunderstorms and fireworks, however, melted the poor thing into a quivering mess. Everyone knows animals act differently before a storm and if you know what signs to look for you can predict the weather. Duke was far more accurate than the weatherman, and an open book with his signs. Until the last year or so he never slept in our room, and a cold wet nose pressed into my side or nuzzling my palm in the middle of the night could only mean one thing. If a storm came when we weren't home Duke would burrow into the corner of our closet until either we came home, or the storm passed. His 'Tigger'-like hind end came in handy for him if he was outside when thunder started to roll - no fence could hold him. He ran, and ran, and ran - apparently he was trying to outrun the storm because he would turn up miles and miles away from home and never in the same area twice.

When I starting working at the ranch Duke and our new(er) Golden came to work with me most every day. While Sadie was still learning to control herself and would endlessly disappear after elk herds, sage hens or anything else we came across on the trail, Duke would simply perk up his ears, take a couple of deer-like bounds towards the wildlife in question and come dutifully back to me. The only occasion I can think of that he didn't come back the first time I called, I'm convinced he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he was. I used to ride a lot by myself - I felt safe enough being on horseback and having the dogs there as well. It was late Spring and the elk herds had temporarily scattered a bit for the pregnant cows to have their babies. We startled one just off the trail. Her baby must have just been born because it wasn't standing yet. The new 'mama' charged us. Sadie, miraculously, came running to me but Duke ran straight at the elk barking like crazy. The elk kept lifting up onto her hind legs and then crashing down low with her fronts out straight, almost like she was doing a very exaggerated bow - but with a completely different meaning. Duke was doing the same thing. They were facing each other and turning in large crazy circles with the point between them as the axis, Duke barking and snarling the whole time. I'd seen him act that way before when he was playing with us, with other dogs (even with some coyote pups), but this was different - it was more serious. His tail wasn't wagging, his tongue wasn't lolling playfully out of his mouth. Instead his lips were pulled back over teeth in a snarl. My sweet boy looked absolutely ferocious. I was riding a young horse that wanted out of the situation and I had a hard time just keeping him from bolting as I yelled for Duke to come. About one-hundred yards up the trail I got my horse to stop. When we got to that point it was as if Duke decided we were far away enough to be safe and came bounding after us. Instead of his usual spot out in front, however, he tailed us until the cow elk finally turned around and went back to her baby. Then he moved to the front clearly high from his encounter. I had always felt safe hiking, running, and riding with Duke. I felt like he would protect me, although I imagined a human attacker rather than another animal. After that incident I knew I had been right. We protected him from his fears and he was ready to protect us.

We told ourselves once he couldn't get around well it would 'be time'. That stage came and went. He still seemed happy when he was with us and rarely let any chance to follow us around outside pass him by, even though he was moving in an increasingly slow shuffle. The arthritis in his front elbows had fused his joints stiff and straight. We tried every medication the vets offered. The nerves in his back had begun dying a few years ago and slowly his back legs had lost feeling, which is why he shuffled. He moved his front legs and the back legs would follow. Stairs became impossible for him to maneuver over the last two months, we carried him up and down. Once he couldn't stand up by himself we would pick him up and steady him and then he would be okay. And then suddenly he wasn't. He couldn't stay standing unless we held onto him for awhile and positioned his legs. Still, sometimes even then he would fall right back down. He could barely hear anymore, his eyes had started to cloud over and we couldn't keep weight on him. The look in his eyes said everything, and we knew we couldn't put him through it any more.

As Tyler dug Duke's grave and I tried to do something - anything to keep myself from thinking and crying more, I found poor tender-hearted Grey standing on the back bumper of the Suburban. He was peering through the open window at Duke wrapped up in a blanket and had the saddest expression I've ever seen on his face. I put my arm around him and told him it's okay to cry when you feel sad. Glad for a tender-hearted husband, I pointed out that 'Daddy' had cried too. He got down and hugged me and I could tell then that he had already been crying. I still remember the way I felt as a child the first time I lost a pet. I know it's a part of life. I know the level of joy can only reach as deep as the level of our sorrow. I know each loss helps us grow and cherish what we have. I know these things, and I'm still sad. I am sad to lose my friend and sad to watch my boys dealing with losing their friend too. Duke has always been an immediate part of their world, and now the world has changed, and I can't kiss it to make it better. More than sending the boys off to a new year of school, I feel like we all grew older today.

Duke, you are greatly loved and missed.