Magnus, RIP

After a long bout with a brain tumor, Magnus' family was finally forced to give him a mercy death this morning. A series of seizures about five weeks ago left him a shadow of his former magnificent self, and another flurry of them two days ago did the old guy in. He was confused, crippled and in great pain, and there was nothing left to do.

Magnus was the king of dogs; the undisputed leader of his pack throughout his long life. He didn't fight: He disciplined. And he almost always did it with justice - any time he waded in to break up a fight, he always seemed to know who had started it and concentrated his attention on that dog.

He was as territorial as you'd want a watchdog to be, but unendingly affectionate. When he decided a human was all right, that person could do no wrong in his eyes. (Except for one time, the only time he ever got mad at me. Little Bear was just a wee pup and got his head stuck in a bizarre place. I couldn't get him out, and had to drive to the neighbors for help. When I got back, Magnus gave me holy hell for leaving at such a critical time. But he faithfully stayed right by the puppy until I got back - even if I had abandoned him, he never would.)

I knew him for the past three years, but during my year of solitude Magnus became my close and very dear friend. He came to get me one time when I fell in a canyon and banged my meat leg hard on a rock; knew I was hurt and helped me get back up while all the other dogs frolicked and ignored me. He always stayed close through that cold winter, and his face was the first thing I saw on many a dark morning. He was a good friend and teacher to my own pup Little Bear, and though at the end he was often short-tempered and sometimes a little rough with the little guy, I always knew that with Magnus around he'd never come to harm.

He's buried now next to T, his beloved friend and master, as T had instructed before he died last year. I am honored to have known them both, and to have called them friend.