15 years ago, not long after my stepdad moved in with my mom and I, he brought his dog - the dog my mother had dared him to bring from his parents house - to our house. Mom and I were terrified of him. He was four years old at the time and had a bit of an attitude problem. He wasn't fond of certain people, particularly men, and for reasons Mom and I can't remember now, we were convinced he was going to eat us for dinner.
Over the course of a couple of weeks, however, we realized the dog wasn't so bad. Sure, his name was kind of lame - Bear is just so unoriginal - but it suited him well. Then the chewing started.
Bear chewed anything and everything. You would have thought he'd be past that, seeing as he was well past his puppy years, but that wasn't the case. He took a special liking to electrical cords late at night. It started with Halloween that year. Mom always goes all out and decorates for the holidays, including lights outside. At night, once the porch light was off and he knew we were in bed, he would chew through the extension cords, or, sometimes, the lights themselves (he was an outside dog who spent cold nights inside). We made it through Halloween and then it was Christmas where five times as many lights were up. Every few days, Mom had to buy new extension cords or a new string of lights.
Well, Mom has a bit of a tempter and had had enough. Looking back, she realizes this wasn't the best move but after spending a small fortune in cords and lights, she wasn't thinking clearly. She left the lights on one night. Bear bit into them. He received quite a jolt and never, ever chewed anything other than rawhide bones again.
I have always had a dog growing up, from the moment my parents bought a St. Bernard when I was an infant so we would grow up together. I had a pretty special relationship with my cat when I was five and didn't have anyone to play with other than my parents and grandparents, but it wasn't until Bear that I knew the unconditional kind of love a pet can have for it's owner.
I'd been away from home with my grandparents for a couple of weeks, visiting my aunt and uncle who then lived in Ohio. I rode on the back of the truck from my grandparents house to home (less than a mile) and the moment the truck stopped, Bear cleared the tailgate in one swift jump and leaped on me, thrilled to finally see me again.
When the twins were born, Mom wasn't sure how Bear would do. I was older when we got him - 9 I think - and the twins were tiny little buggers. My stepdad held onto his collar to introduce them. He sniffed each twin once and then laid down in front of their carriers, appointing himself from that day forward their protector - and herder.
My sister has always been the more hard-headed of the two and has a knack for not listening - or maybe, remembering? - what Mom says. She and my brother (they were about five at the time) were playing on the deck of our old house and were told not to leave it. Natuarally, my sister tested that limit over and over again with Mom repeatedly reprimanding her. Bear got up from his spot in the corner of the deck and went to lay on the sidewalk. Miss Priss tried her luck once again and Bear stood, nudged her with his head just hard enough to knock her down gently and gave her a look that said 'try it again, miss.' She didn't try again.
Bear was my 'Guy Gauge' as I liked to call him. Everytime I bought a boy to the house, I could tell by Bear's reaction if he was a good guy or not. Silly, maybe, but grossly accurate. He liked Rob for a while but his attitude suddenly changed towards him. Rob broke up with me two weeks later. Idiot. Anyways... Bear never liked John. Never. Even bit him once when he wa s playing with my sister and ran up to her and scooped her up. He went for the leg. Heelers are cattle dogs and are trained to go low - to nip at the cow's heels to get them to move where they want them to go. John, my first boyfriend, cheated on me. He commented on my facebook status about bear saying 'Sorry to hear, however I still have a scar on my leg from that dog.' I replied 'Thanks for the condolences - can't say I'm sorry about the scar.'
My aunt refered to Bear as a 'fixture' when she heard the news that he'd died. A better word couldn't have been used. He was the dog waiting for first my bus and then the twins' bus every single day, rain, shine, sleet, or snow. He was the dog who knew how many kids were supposed to get off the bus and then hearded them all towards the house and away from the road. He made it his business to bark only if someone drove up to our house or if something was going outside that shouldn't be. He laid in front of the front door and looked at whoever dared open it and disturb him like they were the worst people in the history of the world. More than once, he stood between our cocker spaniel, Abby, who annoyed him greatly and thinks she's bigger than she is, and our neighbor's rescue German Shephard who thinks just because he's the biggest dog on the mountain means he runs the place.
As he got older and his hearing got worse and his arthritis flaired up, he stopped following us when we would go for walks - or on a good day, he'd go about halfway and lay down until we came back. One day this past summer though, he decided he'd go with me. That day, a stray dog was in my path and bared it's teeth at me. Bear got between us and while he never attacked, he paced the dog back down the road so I could get away. To this day, I swear he knew that dog was going to be in my way. He never went with me again after that and I hate to think what would have happened without him.
Tuesday night when I got home, he didn't greet me. I figured he didn't hear me or was in the house. Sure enough, he was in the basement for the night. Wednesday, he was laying at the end of the sidewalk. I called out to him but his hearing was completely gone. Abby, who had been vying for ALL of my attention, bounded down the sidewalk, barked at him until she got his attention, and then came back to me. He turned, saw me, and his ears perked up. We had a good little reunion.
By Thursday (Thanksgiving), we knew he wasn't going to make it much longer - he was panting and could barely move. Friday morning, he passed away. Our hearts were - and still are - broken but he lived 19 years and was one of the absolute best dogs we could have ever asked for. We're looking for a new Heeler puppy, but it won't be Bear. No one can be Bear.
If there are spelling or grammar mistakes, I apologize. Tears are pouring down my face as I write this and think about my sweet dog. I'm so thankful I got to see him one more time before be passed. He was as much a member of our family as any human would be. I got 15 years of his 19. The twins got 9. We're all thankful for those years and will miss him every day. So will Abby who, Mom says, is slowly but surely regaining the bounce in her step that has been missing since Friday.

Bear
AKA 'Boogie' or 'Boogie Bear'
February 1990 - November 27, 2009