In the spring of 1999, Joy and I went to a pet store in Chicago, just to look. We had been talking about having a dog when we retired, perhaps a St. Bernard, At a dog show we had looked at St. Bernards and other breeds. That’s when we saw the bearded collies—faces you couldn’t help but love and a gregarious personality that said, "I like you; let’s have some fun together."

In the pet store were two beardy/border puppies in a cage. We both fell for the one with the white face, but I was recovering from a broken foot and Joy was going to Hawaii in a week. So that ended the puppy quest for a while. But in a couple of months my foot healed and we again started talking about getting a dog. Joy and I went back to that pet store to see if they had any beardy pups. "The white-faced one? We sold him the same day you were here, but we still have his brother. He’s on sale for only $60 in a cage in the back—been here too long." We found a homely 6-month-old scraggly black and grey-haired puppy with white paws. He had some of the features of the one we had liked before, but not the white face. The pet-shop clerk put him into a large enclosure on the floor, and we played with him a little. "When was he born?" Joy asked. "December 24th" Well that decided it; Joy wanted that Christmas dog. I was ambivalent, but willing to accept that scraggly animal into my life.

We paid the $60 and took that little guy home. In the car he was frightened to death, drooling all over Joy’s dress. (His fear of riding in a car continued all his life.) "What do you want to name him?," I asked. I was thinking of "Pal," the name of my first dog of long ago. "How about "Socks" for his white socks and paws? I asked" "No, he’s going to be too sophisticated for that. What about ‘Socrates?" And so it was.

Our condo home, then, was a 4-level affair, and Socrates was scared of stairs. But with coaxing and love he became accustomed to the stairs and to us.

Our walks started then; up and down the sidewalk, around the block, then down to Lake Michigan and back. His beardy personality was beginning to show. He enjoyed people, and especially other dogs. And he was beginning to look like a real bearded collie.

Then, in early summer, we began the move to Trout Creek, Michigan to retire. Several years prior we had bought a log home, Rocky Shores, on Lake Superior, and later a 90-year-old home in Trout Creek which turned out to be our actual residence. We kept Rocky Shores as a rental unit and occasional vacation home. Socrates and I moved in first while Joy finished her job in Chicago. In July we left Socrates in the care of our Rocky Shores manager, and celebrated July 4^th with Joy’s and my kids in the Chicago area. On July 5^th, I suddenly became a candidate for heart by-pass surgery, then a month-long recovery in Chicago, while Socrates was having the time of his life with our manager’s two other dogs.

I finally got back to Trout Creek and lived alone with Socrates for several months while Joy finished her work at the hospital. Socrates and I took daily walks with his leash looped around my belt because my chest was still healing. This became my cardiac rehab. The walks got longer and longer as my chest healed. And when Joy retired and moved to Trout Creek, Socrates had made friends with nearly everyone in town. Joy’s and Socrates’ gregarious personalities blended and helped me become more connected to people in town. Socrates developed into a beautiful fun-loving dog with soulful brown eyes and hardly an unkind bark for anyone. There were only two residents he didn’t like: a big snooty dog named Pillsbury and a man who trapped and skinned wild animals. Practically any other person or dog was hopefully a playmate.

Trout Creek is located in the middle of the Ottawa Forest. The most prevalent landscape features are trees—lots and lots of trees of many varieties. From our home, we can be on a road or trail surrounded by trees in less than ½ mile. In the summer the trees are thick with leaves and birds. In the fall we can be in the midst of yellows reds and browns wherever we look. In the winter the evergreens graciously hold tons of snow converting them into a fairyland scene, and the roads are always plowed albeit snow-packed. There are wild animals in the woods—birds of all kinds including eagles, bears, coyotes, deer and wolves. Walking along, it’s fun to try figuring out the various foot prints we see. Socrates and I saw wolves twice on our walks. In both cases they just looked at us and walked on.

Socrates had a wonderful nose. He could sniff and dig out some of the most disgusting stuff imaginable. Walking along the side of the road he might suddenly lunge to the other side dragging me with him, only to come up with a small piece of deer bone probably left over from a wolf kill. He compulsively sniffed where other animals had been, sometimes with a look of fear on his face and a hard pull on the leash asking me to turn back. He didn’t want to become "dinner" for some other animal.

For almost 9 years Socrates and I walked nearly every morning for about 2 miles. We walked together once or twice more each day, as well. If we met someone along the way, they would often say, "Hello Socrates," and then "Oh, hi, Don," and ask "Who’s walking who?" He had as many as four people conned into stopping their car to give him dog biscuits, plus the White Door general store whenever he was tied up outside waiting for one of us to come out with our purchases. Whenever I would be walking alone, people would ask, "Where’s Socrates?" Everybody loved (loves) Socrates.

Socrates loved Rocky Shores. There, he could run free and explore the woods and lakeshore. I loved to watch him run. He would practice the sheep-herding moves that were part of his DNA—circling and crouching then springing up and running full tilt the length of the yard. As he ran he would prance almost like a deer, his big white paws flashing and a huge grin on his face. Now he runs only in my memory.

About two weeks ago, Socrates began slowing down little by little. He had an occasional cough accompanied by labored breathing. We took him to Rocky Shores last Wednesday then to the veterinarian on Friday, thinking the vet could diagnose his cough. "He has heart arrhythmia, and that is causing his cough," he said. He was also rapidly losing weight. We were handed two envelopes of little pills to be given morning and evening. "Call me if anything changes and bring him in Monday so I can check his heart again."

Over the weekend Socrates seemed a little better at times, and then he would get tired and want to lie down. We had a short walk on Saturday morning and went almost two miles Sunday morning; on the way home he wanted to lie down just a short distance from home. Monday, Joy took him back to the vet. "The beta blocker isn’t helpingl enough," Joy said when she got home. "The vet wants Socrates to have an ultrasound checkup so he’ll know what kind of medication to put him on." The clinic the vet wanted to use was in Superior WI, 165 miles away. We were able to get the appointment the next day for 11:00 am CST and left at 9:00 EST with a reluctant Socrates in the back of the car.

Halfway there we stopped for gas and Joy took Socrates for a short walk. Socrates did not want to get back in the car. He lay down and would not get up, so I picked him up and put him in the back of the hatchback. He felt so light and vulnerable. When we got to the clinic, we opened the back of the car. Socrates was on his side, glazed eyes open, and his mouth slightly open. He was dead. The vet at the clinic said he had a heart attack and probably didn’t suffer at all.