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Recently, my oldest son had developed an interest in sled dog racing, and a family friend had given him a dog of his own to raise and train. It was a large Husky mix, and we kept him in the back yard in a pen with a large run.

On this particular morning, the Husky had been barking excessively, and my husband had asked my son to yell out the back door to the dog in an effort to quiet him down. I heard my son open the French doors in our living room to yell to the dog. The sound of the door opening and my son's voice had also attracted Bailey's attention, and he jumped off the sofa and trotted off to see what the commotion was all about.

The moments that followed are somewhat of a blur to me, as it all happened so quickly, but the first thing I remember is hearing my sons both screaming and running out the back door. I quickly ran to the door, and the scene I witnessed will never be erased from my memory.

I saw my son's sled dog, running in circles in the yard, with my precious Bailey in his mouth. My sons were crying and screaming, beating the Husky with their fists in an effort to free Bailey. I screamed for my husband and ran out in to the yard, barefoot and still in my nightgown. My husband was right behind me.

My husband and I joined our sons in hitting and kicking the larger dog so that he would let Bailey go and, although it seemed like an eternity, it was my husband who finally managed to tear Bailey free. We all ran in to the house, sobbing and completely terrified. While my husband laid Bailey on the sofa in an effort to revive him, I frantically dressed. Within minutes, we were speeding to the vet's office, nearly 20 miles away, Bailey in my lap and wrapped in the same Steelers blanket that we both so often cuddled in together.

I know the exact moment that my Bailey drifted out of my life. We were only a few miles from our home when he raised his head to look at me one last time. I can still see his brown eyes, which were always so bright and sparkling, looking into mine. I can still hear myself crying and begging him not to die. He laid his head back down in my lap and, although my husband frantically instructed me to keep his head elevated so he could breathe, I knew in my heart he was already gone. I truly believe that Bailey had mustered every ounce of strength he had left that morning to lift his head, look into my face and tell me goodbye. I just wasn't ready to let him go.

It wasn't until I heard the veterinarian speak the words I will never forget,

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