My dog died

This, in and of itself, was not remarkable, or unexpected, as the dog, a Lhaso Apso, was about 17 years old.

She only had about half her teeth left, couldn't hear or see anymore and mostly just walked around in circles, when she bothered to walk at all. She slept a lot.

Last summer, my wife woke me up about 4 in the a.m. and said, "Honey, Punky's dead."

I went out in the backyard, and there she was, lying in the middle of yard, still as night. There was a full moon. And as I stood there gazing at her in the moonlight, I saw her twitch. She was only sleeping, but it was a very, very deep sleep. She was at the age where if she was sleeping and you had to wake her up, it took more than a few nudges.

So ever since last summer, we've pretty much been wondering how long she'd last. That wait came to an end exactly a week ago.

Now, the remarkable thing about the death of "Punky," to me, is that my wife buried her. Before I woke up.

Yep, I didn't even have to gaze up on her stiff old body. My wife knew Punky's demise would upset me, and it did, so she spared me the last rites by taking care of the burial herself, around 4 in the morning, before the sun came up, and I before I woke up.

Like I told a friend the other day, "I'll bet I'm married to the only woman in the world who'd bury her husband's dog."

Now, I want you to know that I did not name the dog. I'd never name a dog "Punky."

That was her name when she arrived for a weekend visit, around 15 years ago, and it was strongly suggested at the time that I might enjoy keeping her, as I was a bachelor at the time, living alone in a dingy, smoke-filled apartment with lots of newspapers piled high in the corners. I protested at first, of course, but finally relented, and we were together from then on out.

Lhasos are smart dogs. Tibet is their homeland. They used to guard the monks at the doorsteps to the monasteries.

They don't require an awful lot of attention. They're content to sit at your feet when you're sitting at the computer, or sleep at the foot of your bed or just outside your bedroom door at night time. Good watch dogs. They'll bark when there's commotion outside.

I once saved Punky from almost certain death. We were visiting some friends who had two Sharpei dogs that were awfully aggressive canines. They were out in the backyard, with only a screen door between them and us. The screen door didn't hold and one of the devil dogs burst through and went right for Punky's jugular. He had ahold of her and it was all I could do to pull the beast off my little pet by grabbin' hold of the Sharpei's tail and givin' a heave-ho with all my might.

This annoyed the Sharpei enough that he turned around and bit me on the forearm. He didn't hang on to me. And I didn't even know he had bitten me til somebody said, "Hey, your arm's bleedin'." I've still got the Sharpei's fang mark on my right forearm. It's kinda like a tattoo in a way. There's a story there if anyone notices it and inquires. But it was worth it. Pulling on that devil dog's tail distracted him long enough so that Punky escaped a serious mauling, if not the last rodeo then and there.

Then, not long after that, she returned the favor, sort of.

I was real, real depressed once. So depressed I could hardly move. So depressed and down and out that I just felt like giving up. All I could was lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling. Per usual, Punky sauntered up and lay on the floor next to the couch. So I picked her up and put her up on my chest. Then I fell asleep.

I slept for a good 3 or 4 hours, even though it was broad daylight. And when I awoke, Punky was still right there on my chest, where I had put her. Hand't moved an inch. I figured she sensed there was something going on with me and decided the prudent move was to stay close. And it made me feel better to wake up and have her still there plopped on top of me, not quite as alone in the world as I had imagined myself 3 or 4 hours earlier.

So long, Punkster. You were a good dog. See ya on the other side.