Pansey

Goat fencing

Dodge

A Tribute to Trooper, 04/02/95-11/17/08

There are dogs and there are DOGS. Trooper was definitely one of those capital D Dogs. He was born into my hands, still, blue and lifeless in the early morning hours. As I focused upon his mother who was having a very stressful birth I tossed this blue pup gently to the owner of the mother and asked her to rub him and blow in his face. I told her, "If that one makes it, he will be a real trooper." Thus began Trooper's life on a rainy morning on an island in Southeast Alaska.

From the beginning, Trooper was remarkable. He was remarkably destructive, remarkably stubborn, remarkably able to get the neighbors angry with us. I spent most of the first 2 years of his life begging forgiveness for his transgressions and prophesying to folks "He will be a good dog when he outgrows the puppy stage." This was absolutely true. At the age of 2 he grew up and began to take his responsibilities seriously. For the remainder of his life he protected us, our home and our livestock from harm. In all those years we had only one loss and that was when he was not allowed out one night. He proudly stood at the prow of our boat in southeast Alaska as we crossed the water daily to get back and forth to land from our float house. He chased away bears so berries could be safely picked. He calmly allowed all visitors except one who for some reason he would not allow on our property. (Not knowing this fellow, we decided to take Trooper's word for it that he shouldn't be there and never worried that he would dare try to come back.)

Trooper has patiently taught many of our children to walk while holding to his mane, or an ear or his tail. Trooper was always trustworthy with our children though he would give them a deep rumble of correction if they fell on him or climbed on as he got older and arthritic, he never showed anything but concern and love for them. Trooper had the blessing of being able to be free most of his life. Either in the wilds of Alaska or on our property in Montana he was rarely confined. He was a working dog and in order to do what he needed to do, he needed freedom. He ran the risk of injury but it was a risk we had to take to allow him to lead the life he loved. In his 12 years of life, he was never sick. He was blessed with excellent genetics and a hardy active lifestyle. He was a beautiful vibrant animal until the last few weeks when age began to slow him down and bewilder him. It was mostly that bewilderment that helped us make the decision to euthanize him. He could have lived a little longer in the house with help from us, but he didn't do well with that lifestyle. We felt that he needed to go out with his boots on. So this morning he made the trip to the vet, after a stop for a bagel dog, (In his aged state, he had an insatiable appetite and seemed to think mostly of food, so we indulged him with something really yummy and gross.) At the vet, he was sedated and Clint held him while he went to sleep. When the vet was certain he was totally asleep, the injection was given to stop his grand old heart. Thus ends the life and begins the legend of a remarkable dog.