by Elisabeth Halligan

Created on: June 17, 2008

As I sit here I hear him groan. He's trying to stand up again, finding his legs too weak to accomplish the task. I know that we are in our last days together, my friend and I, and I don't want him to be alone when it is time for him to go.

One of my dearest companions, Bandit is my twenty year old Australian Shepherd. Yes, twenty years old. Honestly, I have to say, I hope I look nearly so good when I'm 140 years old!

If you look at him now, you see a bony, gray old dog with thick cataracts over his eyes, blinding him, gray fur with bald patches, feeble muscles that barely function. I've been told more than once to have him "put down". If I thought for a moment that he was in agony, I would do it. Never would I want my old friend to suffer. But his groans and creaks are momentary and then he is hobbling around the house, making sure that everything is put right.

When I look at him, I don't see an old invalid. I see a beautiful black and white dog who ran this house as if it were his own private kingdom. Nobody messed with Bandit! A trained herding dog, I would often have to call to my husband, "Honey, would you please call Bandit in the house? He's herded all of the children in to one corner of the yard again!"

This dog is more human and humane than most people I know. He's responsible and diligent, a dog of honor. When I was very ill and in danger of miscarrying, my husband had to go out on the road... "Bandit," he said, "Keep mama in bed while I'm gone." I laughed. Oh, yes, a forty pound dog is going to keep me from getting up and doing what I need to do for four days?

The answer to that would be yes, he was! He was kind but insistent. I was allowed to get up and go to the bathroom and go back to bed. I could sit at my desk, but if I started to put a toe out as if I was going to do laundry or anything heavy, Bandit was there... pushing at me gently, but firmly, insisting that my steps head back the other way. No matter how I turned and tried to walk around or over him, he was there. I finally gave up and let him win. There was no use trying to outmaneuver him.

It is my turn to take care of him now. It can't be long... and yet I know that I have said that before. "He won't be here another winter, enjoy him while he's here."... and then another winter comes and goes... and comes and goes... and comes and goes.... Australian Shepherds live 12 to 14 years on average. He has far exceeded that.

I know that the day will come when I call my old friend and he stays put... sleeping peacefully forever, his duty finally done. I will weep, not for him, but for me. But until that day comes, I will tend to him, feed him, love him... oh, how I will always love him.

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