DoubleDog belonged to my brother Michael first. He got him from Ty Whitcomb when Ty lived in Santa Cruz. His real name was Junior but no one ever called him that. While I was working at Dixie Valley Ranch, in Northern California, he had been crowned DoubleDog. My name is Tee Double U and he was Tee Double Dog. DoubleDog stuck. Mike and I passed him between on a regular basis. If I had job for the summer camping out in the woods, he went with me. When Mike was working in a quiet area, He went with Mike. DoubleDog managed to camp half his life and he slept the other half. My guess is that he rode 200,000 miles in the back of a pick up truck. He was a big oaf, Queensland Heeler. The kind that looks like an over stuffed sausage. And he could eat. We called him the landshark. One Halloween Mike tied a surfboard keel to his back and took him trick or treating.
DoubleDog went blind at about eight years old. I was married and we had bought a ranch in Grass Valley, California. I came home one day and DoubleDog had been in a huge fight with the former owners dog. He was beat up pretty bad so we took him to the veterinarian. He recovered fine but about three months later he went blind from a congenative disease. He could still see light and dark and get around OK but he wasn't much to spot anything as a watch dog. We never figured he was in any pain and he knew his way around the house so well that he got along fine. All he ever wanted to do was eat and sleep anyway and this left him free to pursue those endeavors. We used to joke that we were going to get him a seeing eye person but where concerned that the seeing eye person couldn't get into a restaurant.
.Poor old Double Dog developed cancer in his throat. I never really knew what was wrong until years later. Mike had taken him to the vet, but he never told me the diagnosis. Mike brought him up to the ranch in the spring. It was a nice year and the grass was tall. Double Dog could lay around in the warm sun and do his lump imitation all day. He started to slush the water in his dish in and out of his mouth and I realized that he was starting to have some pain and difficulty swallowing. He had lived longer than many people would have let him, but it was now obvious that I would have to do something. I called my vet and discovered that they would come out to the place and lay the old boy to rest for me. I knew that would have to be the way, for I did not want to have to take him into the office and let him die in a strange place. I made the appointment for mid morning.

The next day I fixed him a nice big breakfast. When he had trouble eating it, my decision was validated. Today would be the day. I walk him out into the field were my other dogs where buried, A nice sunny spot, from where you can see the whole ranch, and started digging a hole. Double slept in the warm sun while the spring breeze tickled the grass. It was a nice day to die.
At about eleven, a car came through the gate and parked in the yard. A sweet young technician got out of the car and I called her over to the spot. I knew that this had to be hard for her. It's the worst part of veterinary practice. We talked for a minute and I paid her ahead of time so we wouldn't have to handle that afterwards. Double was asleep, as usual. We woke him up and he gazed at us in utter bliss. He didn't even have to get up. I talked to him lightly and petted his head while she found a vein in his foreleg. A quick injection and the deed was done. Double Dog never even moved. He simply let out a long deep breath , that no one could misinterpret. It was a sigh of relief.
For me there was no sorrow. Yes, I would miss him, but I had given him the very best gift that I have ever given a friend. He looked so comfortable there lying in the sun, you would have never known he wasn't just asleep.
We all should be so lucky.