My mother died when I was 21.  In order to put some love into my life, I adopted Bear, a black Labrador Retriever.  She was the spunkiest pup in her litter.  She was my chosen one, but I was disappointed to see that she was wearing a marked collar.  I thought it meant she had already been selected.  I said that she was the puppy that I had to have and offered more money than the normal fee.  The breeder told me she was not for sale because she had suffered a seizure.  I was drawn to this pup and she to me.  She wouldn’t leave my side, so the owners gave her to me free.  This was done with the understanding that she had no guarantee and would not be used for breeding.  No problem there.  She was my Bear.

    My spunky Bear turned into my greatest joy.  I missed my mom so much, and it was Bear that made me smile.  She was far from perfect.  She ate walls, furniture, floors; you name it.  She was so smart; she learned obedience commands in just a few days.

    She was an angel when I was home, but when she was bored it was quite a different story.  She just loved mischief.  One day when I returned from work, I opened the door and found all 90 pounds of her fast asleep on the kitchen table.  I still laugh about it.

    Bear had an uncanny knack for reading my moods.  When I was sick in bed, she was beside herself.  She first offered her bone to me and insisted I keep it.  When that didn’t work, she looked for something else.  She spent the better part of an hour bringing me everything she loved in order to make me feel better.  By this time, the bed was filled with toys.  She was trying so hard to make me happy, so I got up and pretended she had cured me.

    I feel, we were meant to be together.  She was my best friend and had a definite purpose in my life.  She helped me deal with my mother’s death, and I credit her with saving my life.

    I spent four years in a very abusive relationship.  I lived with a police officer and felt it would be useless to report the abuse.  How could I call the cops when he was one?  There were many times he put a gun to my head during a drunken rage.  I accepted the abuse and didn’t have the courage to leave.

    During one rage, Bear stepped in and took a punch to the snout.  That was the first time he hit Bear, and that was the last time he touched either of us.  I took my dog and left my own home.  The next two weeks were spent running from friend to friend.  Finally, he realized the relationship was over, and I was able to move back home.  Now I was strong enough to go to his chief, and animal welfare as well, to report the abuse.  I find it ironic that I could act because he hit my Bear.  She made me realize my life was really worthwhile.  Thanks to Bear, I saw the light.

    With that part of our lives behind us, we settled in to many happy times.  We spent days in the park, visited friends, and played at every opportunity.

    It was during this time that I began to rescue barn kitties.  I saved about thirty, and Bear loved all of them.  She had great mothering instincts.  One day I brought home a very special rescue.  It was a beautiful little Birman female.  While I was waiting for the right home placement, Bear decided she was her cat.  I named her Fancy.  This rounded out our family nicely.

    I always had it in the back of my mind that Bear’s time with me would be short.  She remained healthy with the exception of two more seizures at the ages of one and four.

    Bear was a little slow getting up one morning.  I looked at her back leg and noticed it was swollen.  The swelling reached up as far as her back nipple.  I took her to the vet and was happy to hear that it was only an infection.  Some antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs would soon have her back to her old self.  The very next day, I saw an improvement.  Thank God!  I couldn’t lose my Bear.

    That happy day was a Wednesday, but it didn’t last long.  Friday morning Bear was down.  Overnight her whole side had swollen so badly, I had to carry this 90-pound loving creature to the vet’s office.  The doctor took another fluid sample and came back to tell me how sorry he was.  It was an aggressive form of cancer, and her body was shutting down.  There was no hope for her, and I had to put her to rest.

    Bear was such a special dog, the doctor took the time to write me a two page letter about her.  Her life ended just short of eight years.  Sometimes I think she waited until I got my life back on track, and then her job was done.

    Her visit to me came one week after she left me.  It took me a week to put her food and water dishes away and vacuum away her fur.  That night I heard the old familiar sound of the toilet seat being lifted and then crash down.  It had been Bear’s way of telling me, “Mom, ya better change my water dish, or I’m going to drink out of the toilet.”  She had done that for years.  I put her water bowl back out for the cat to use.  Her visit left me feeling sad but calm.

    Bear’s second visit came about one month after she died.  My room was chilly, but I didn’t want to turn the heat on so early in the season.  I just bundled up and went to bed.  In the middle of the night, I felt her body warming my back where she always lay.  I wasn’t dreaming.  She was really there, and I was tempted to feel her “spot” to see if it was warm too.  I didn’t because I knew that warmth was only for me.

    Bear’s last visit was to see her buddy, Fancy, the Birman cat that she loved so dearly.  Fancy had this strange, loud purr that she only used when she was lying with Bear.  She had done it since she was little and stopped doing it the day Bear died.  I thought I would never hear that purr again.   

    Fancy was in her usual spot on my pillow when she jumped down, and ran, to the place where Bear always slept when she wasn’t on the bed.  She flopped down and began to purr.  This prissy cat does not flop down for anything!  After this incident, I never heard that purr again.  I felt that strange calm feeling again as I did after the previous two visits.  I was pleased that Fancy also knew that Bear was with us.

    I haven’t heard from Bear since then, at least I think not.  I am a little suspicious that she came to see my new dog, a gray rescue, named Blue.  Blue would not touch any of Bear’s toys until the day I came home after a terrible day at work.  That afternoon, Blue took Bear’s toys out of the basket and has played with them ever since.  I felt that familiar calm.  I can’t be sure if it was just the idea of Blue and Bear sharing toys or if she was really there.  Maybe, if Bear comes home again, she will tell me.

                                                                                        — Alisa P.