He was just a skinny puppy when we found him. Someone had thrown him away, and he was hungry, trying to eat the wrapper from a burger that had been thrown out of a car. We were out for a walk in the rural area where we live, and when we got close we began talking to him. He was cautious at first, but soon came to us, tail wagging and glad for human contact. He wasn't the first dog we had found this way, and he wouldn't be the last. Most of them we place in new homes; occasionally we keep one. He was a keeper.

We named him Dylan, and watched him grow up. He loved to play catch with a tennis ball and never got tired of chasing it. During that clumsy stage they go through, he could find endless new ways to trip over his own feet. We had other dogs and Dylan liked all of them, but he especially liked Gizzy, a Maltese who ran the house. They were great friends, and Dylan was always careful about the size difference, but occasionally he would step on Gizzy, who, to show his displeasure, would stand on his back legs, lean on Dylan's chest, and growl and snarl in his face. Sometimes he would take Dylan's upper lip in his mouth and shake his head while growling angrily. Dylan seemed to enjoy it; whatever The Giz wanted to do was OK with him.

Dylan added a whole new dimension to trips to the mountains. He loved to run and he loved water - you couldn't keep him out of it. It didn't matter where or when; racing through a mountain stream in July appealed to him, and so did swimming in a frigid lake in January. If it was water, he had to be in it.

When Dylan was two, Roger came along, another puppy tossed out alongside the road. Dylan waited, patiently but eagerly, for Roger to grow up so they could play together. And did they play. They never seemed to walk; they ran everywhere, chasing each other around the yard, playing tug with anything they could find, and just racing the fence line. If they were moving, they were moving fast. There was never an ounce of fat on either of these dogs. Now when we went to the mountains, Dylan got to show the kid around. Roger was never as crazy about water as Dylan, but Dylan would encourage him and in he'd go. Then they would race off to see what was up ahead, always coming back to see what was keeping us.

Dylan loved road trips; it didn't matter where we were going, just as long as we were going somewhere. If there was one place that was his favorite, it had to be Jacks River. He could explore in the woods and just about spend the whole day in the water. It's like it was made for him.

His last day was spent doing what he liked best. On a beautiful Sunday in September we took a ride up to Rabun County and hiked along the Chattooga River. Dylan had a great time running through the woods and splashing around in the river. That night, unexpectedly, he died. It's been five years and I still miss him.

Dylan
1990 - 1998