Gunnar left us yesterday. Stubbornly and strongly, as was his way. He was 14 years old. With how hard and fast he lived, and all his injuries along the way, we never thought he’d make it to ten.
We all miss and grieve the loss of our pets, usually claiming “he was the BEST.”
This one was not. He was the hardest. But maybe that’s what made him so engrained in my heart.
He was the black sheep, in wolf’s clothing.
He wasn’t easy. As a puppy, he was kicked out of obedience school. When we managed to get him into agility class, the other participants would quickly kennel their dogs when Gunnar was out.
He travelled as far south as Esquel, Argentina; as far north as Deadhorse, Alaska
That crazy dog joined me on all my crazy adventures except the last, where for four months he sat on the porch and waited for my return. I returned.
He put on a lot of miles, but didn’t make a lot of friends.
Other dogs would bark at him, fight or run away. People were more likely to cringe, keep their distance, and shake their head.
He didn’t win popularity contest nor blue ribbons but put on more miles and had more adventures than any dog I know.
Big and loud in body and spirit, he was the fearless heart, and I loved him for that.
He had courage, grit, gusto, and more inner and outer strength than any dog I’ve ever known.
He wasn’t warm and fuzzy, did not like to be touched, but was always somewhere not (too) far.
He’d try anything, go anywhere, and you couldn’t lose him on the trail, though there were times I wished I could.
He was a pain the ass, head strong, stubborn, and never truly tamed no matter how I tried. I tried. He taught me more about dog training than I ever wanted to know.
They say dogs mirror their people, at least that stage of their lives, as we each usually have many. I dunno about that. All I know is I think I’m relieved this part of me is behind. He was my empty nest, menopause, and many moves dog.
Somehow he was my soul mate.
I never want one like him again, and may never love one like him either.
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Gin Getz 
so sorry! It is very hard to lose our dogs. Your tribute was beautiful!
Hi Ginny, So sorry for your loss. I communicate with Jack often. Up to date with his latest challenge. He’s up to date on my back issues as well. We’re all hanging in. As they say, growing old is not for sissies. Love, from Dick and Linda Sederquist
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I’m sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose a pet after all those years.
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This is a beautiful tribute. And right
I feel your pain, we lost our Shepard
Beautiful, they always have a way of challenging us at the right time, in the right part of our life, so we grow. xo
Being a dog pers
I am sorry for your loss, but it is wonderful that you learned from him, more about yourself.
Love the photos you included.
Hi Gin,
So sorry for your loss! What a wonderful story you told of him! Didn’t realize what an ornery boy his was.
Hope you are all doing well!
Jennifer Norris
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you were a friend when I lost my first wife and you wrote a poem for her . Now on December 13 I lost my second wife. You sent me a coffee cup that I still use and a box of western magazines that after I read them for a long time I sent them to the prison here in Nevada. I am glad that you are still writing.
Don Bentley
Don, I hope this message finds its way to you, I don’t know how these things work any more. You have been on my mind, and dIdn’t know how to reach you. When I posted here (first time in a long time) I was hoping these words would reach you. When I did my long ride last year (ALongQuietRide.com) I initially considered riding through Nevada and thought maybe I’d ride by and see you :) Alas, in search of grass and water, I took a more northern route. I do think of you often and sincerely hope you are well. And hope we don’t lose touch this time. With love, Gin