Goodbye to an Old Friend

Like most everyone, I approach the New Year with an attitude of anticipation. While looking back at 2017 and recognizing some truly positive events, I cannot ignore those things that were sad and even painful.

As we were preparing to head to Texas in December for Danny’s graduation from basic military training, our dog Bear, a Chow mix, suffered an apparent stroke and, on the Saturday before we left for Texas, we had to let him go.

Many of our readers know Bear – also known as Little Bear – because of his nametag. Why would they know of Little Bear? Because, after he came to live with us, he would jump our fence and go wandering in the neighborhood making new friends along the way.

I was working at the Crescenta Valley Sun in April 2006 when Steve brought home Little Bear whom he had found while hiking near Mt. Gleason. I was not enthralled. Little Bear was a puppy, probably about four months old, and I had never owned a puppy; I had only heard the horror stories of raising a puppy. But there he was, wandering the back trails of Mt. Gleason, apparently having been ditched by his owners. When Steve first saw him, he thought he had come across a baby bear – hence the name. Right away when Steve called him Little Bear hopped right into his car as if to say, “I was waiting for you.”

From the start, Little Bear lived up to his puppy reputation. I knew he loved Mexican food. Why? I came home from work one day and he had eaten a sombrero. There was sombrero all over my house. Then there was the day when I came home, called out to him, and he didn’t come. I didn’t think much of it and headed to the laundry room to do a load. Across from the laundry room, in the wet bar area, was Little Bear, shaking uncontrollably, scared to death with a Milkbones dog biscuit box stuck over his head. Apparently he had gotten into the pantry and into the box, sticking his head into it to get the last morsel. The box got stuck on his head.

I never said he was bright.

And, of course, there were the countless calls that always seemed to begin with: “Do you have a dog named Little Bear?” After jumping the fence, he was only too eager to go visit when people called him to their house. They’d check the tag and give me a call on my cellphone. The dog was a party on four paws.

He loved my friends, often “tasting” them when they came to visit. He would wrap his mouth around their arm and lead them around the house.

As he grew older, hikes to Deukmejian Wilderness Park and Switzer Falls were fewer. Being a large dog, we saw that his hips were beginning to give him some problems, though he was able to jump onto our bed right up until he had the stroke.

He was a good pup and I am thankful that Steve called out to the boy who seemed to be waiting just for him.

  robin goldsworthy