I planned to write an ode to our dog Hannah. But since I’m not a poet, I began thinking instead of what we owed to our dog.

One wintry day in Colorado, snow blowing past our windows sideways, my veterinarian husband brought home a twelve-week-old puppy. Now, I had thought it was time we took a break from having a whole pack of dogs and had even expressed as much to him earlier. Nevertheless, here he stood in our entryway, snowy boots melting into puddles on the tile, holding a shivering, almost hairless, German shorthaired pointer puppy. A tiny white female with brown spots.

He said, “I couldn’t help it. She’s a special dog. I’ll make a bed for her in the garage if you want me to.”

I said, “Give her to me.” I wrapped her in my sweatshirt and held her close in the rocking chair until she stopped shivering.

Thus began our fifteen-year, loving relationship with Hannah. She was a kind-hearted birddog who could retrieve fledgling baby birds from the yard and take them to my husband in her mouth without hurting them. She could quarter a field, scent a pheasant, and hold her point for long periods of time until told to release. She mingled with younger dogs and taught them to hunt, honoring their point without rushing in. She demonstrated air-scenting behavior for me, which I could describe in the mystery novels that I write about a K-9 patrol dog named Robo.

She was my husband’s companion at his veterinary clinic, or she stayed home with me and lay on a cushion by my desk while I wrote. She accepted and welcomed each new dog that came to our home. She loved our cat and often slept beside her when Katydid aged and developed cancer, apparently comforting her as her disease progressed.

When Hannah was thirteen, my husband retired and we moved from Colorado to the Pacific Northwest to be closer to family. She trotted the perimeter of our new yard with my husband when he walked each morning. She enjoyed sitting under the huge Douglas fir and Western red cedar trees, watching squirrels. She barked at coyotes and deer, making sure they didn’t cross the fence and come onto her property.

When she reached age fifteen, Hannah’s toes had become twisted with arthritis and she moved stiffly in the morning. But with medication she continued to be able to run, play, and sleep with apparent comfort. My husband believes that all pets should have good quality of life during their geriatric years, and we had begun discussing the challenges of keeping her as pain free as possible. We were asking ourselves if the end of her life was drawing near.

But one night, like the great dog Hannah was, she took that decision out of our hands. She sustained a massive stroke. After holding and watching her for about an hour, we satisfied ourselves that she was not going to be able to survive. My husband had packed euthanasia medicine in his first aid kit prior to our move, and despite our tears, he was able to help her end her life journey.

We’ve been grieving ever since. Thankfully, we have a younger GSP named Bertie, a sweet girl who does what she can to help take the edge off. Loving our pets includes losing our pets. It’s never easy. For help with grief counseling, I can recommend my book publicist and friend, Maryglenn McCombs Warnock, who has established a pet grief counseling service named Paws To Remember. You can find out more about it here: https://pawstoremembernashville.com/

Having a pet is worth the pain at the end, and the good memories linger. I’ve written this post in memory of Hannah and the happiness our family gained by sharing our lives with her. She was a good, sweet dog. But then, I have to wonder, aren’t they all?

---

Margaret Mizushima writes the internationally published Timber Creek K-9 Mysteries. She served as a past president of the Rocky Mountain Chapter of Mystery Writers of America and was elected Writer of the Year by Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. She is the recipient of a Colorado Authors League Award, a Benjamin Franklin Book Award, a CIBA CLUE Award, and two Willa Literary Awards by Women Writing the West. Her books have been finalists for a SPUR Award by Western Writers of America, a Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award, and the Colorado Book Award. She and her husband recently moved from Colorado, where they raised two daughters and a multitude of animals, to a home in the Pacific Northwest.