Today, May 6, 1995, at 8:53 AM, an old friend closed her eyes and slept for the final time.

It all started back in 1982 with Jessie Pierce. My wife, Nyoka, was serving on the Covington City Commission and was working with Jessie, a member of the Animal Welfare League, to write an ordnance to protect horses from abuse in Covington's popular horse drawn carriage industry.

During that time, Sunnie was born and lived with a family in Erlanger, Kentucky. The husband evidently did not like dogs, and either the wife of one of the children were allergic to Sunnie's fine dog hair - which she deposited in generous proportions wherever she went.

The husband would take Sunnie out into the country, remove her collar (an act that forever affected her), and drive off. Sunnie would either find her way home or the wife would retrieve her.

So finally they contacted the Welfare League to dispose of Sunnie. Jessie called Nyoka and Sunnie came to live with us in October. Sunnie was about 8 months old.

When I came home from work one fateful afternoon, there was Sunnie, standing at the base of the stairs by the piano. I said, "What is that?" Sunnie took one look at me, smiled, and wagged her tail. A 12-year relationship was born.

Our children loved Sunnie from the start. Allison was 7, Alan was 5, and Alex was 2. Sunnie had a saint's patience and love for the children, defending them to the point of nipping at neighborhood children who roughhoused with ours, and laying perfectly still as Alex took a nap with his head on her back. Well, almost perfectly still. Sunnie would raise her head and look at us as if to say, when is he going to get up! Meanwhile, she would not move a muscle under Alex's head. It was a sight to behold.

If any one attribute were to characterize Sunnie, it would be total devotion. She loved us when we were happy. She loved us when life had treated us poorly and we were sad and disappointed. She loved us when we were angry, even to the point of yelling at her. She was always ready to place her head at our side or on our lap. Her love was absolutely unconditional. Her forgiveness was absolute. Sometimes I think God allows us to share the brief life of dogs to remind us of his love for us. Sunnie certainly represented Him well.

Sunnie was quick to learn and smart. Golden Retrievers are smart, but not great problem-solvers. Sunnie was an exception. If a ball rolled under a table, she would go to the other side to get it. If she couldn't reach it herself, she would stand at the spot it sent in and alternately look at the spot then us until we came and helped.

She was an obedient, though high-strung dog. In her training she quickly learned to come when called, stay, and lie down until called. All she required for reinforcement was a smile and one of us saying, "Good dog, Sunnie is a good dog," and petting her head. On the other hand, if we said in a slow, deep voice, "Sunnie, oh noooo," she would hang her head and look so sad. Through these gestures she was trained.

Sunnie loved to demonstrate her training. She would stay until called, even if a treat were placed within inches of her nose. She would not touch the treat until we said," Ok Sunnie, go get it." This amazed all observers since a dog's basic instinct would be to eat first, obey second, unless the trainer were to withhold the reward in a pocket. Sunnie would perform with the reward right in front of her, not partaking until given permission. All this she did with slight hand signals as well.

Taking a walk with Sunnie was a 'trip'. She would get very excited and run all over. We couldn't use a leash for she would drag us all over the place - she was a BIG dog! So we would alternately have her stay down, then we would walk a hundred feet ahead and say, "come." She would come like a shot, only to repeat the process over and over.

Sunnie's anxiety over trips seemed to stem in part from her previous owners attempts at abandonment. Sunnie was very sensitive to new environs. Sometimes when out on a walk she would run up to stranger's parked cars and jump up on the doors. I think she thought that the door to a car, any door, was a portal to home.

Further anxiety was evident if her collar were removed for any reason, like a bath. Sunnie would nudge the collar, then nose you with her nose on your hand, until her collar was replaced. Again, her previous owners would remove her collar before their attempts at abandonment. Sunnie never forgot this, and in her final moments, we kept her collar in place until she had passed on. Only after her heart had stopped did we remove her collar.

All the kids loved Sunnie, but she and Allison had a very special relationship. It was very difficult for Allison and Sunnie when she went off to college. Each return visit home during Allison's freshman and sophomore year would begin with a lovefest between the two of them. Allison liked to sleep along side Sunnie, especially when she was sad. Sunnie the comforterer.

Sunnie had favorite games. One of her very favorite was catch the foot. She would initiate the game by getting down in front and lurching from side to side. I would move my feet very fast and she would move very fast. The object was to lightly touch the top of the others foot. The one on top was the winner. Many times I had to concede with a paw on my foot! Sunnie was very good at this game and we played it often to the delight of both of us.

She also loved to run after balls. At first, she would bring her balls back to us to throw again. But about as often she would play keep away with us by ducking her head when we tried to take the ball from her mouth.

Sunnie loved to play with balls - with or without us. When we lived on Crystal Lake Drive she liked to take a tennis ball to the top of the steps, nudge it over the edge with her nose, then run down the steps chasing it - over and over and over. Noki thinks this was her version of what the boys called 'fupping'. This is sliding down the carpeted stairs with pajamas on. When I cleaned up her area today I found eleven carefully placed balls.

Baths were another favorite. She loved being pampered while being bathed. In fact, she would jump right in the bathtub with the boys if we turned our back on her. The boys would whisper, "C'mon Sunnie," and kerschplop! She was in the tub.

When we moved to Edgewood and finished the basement, we built a special access port in the bathroom so Sunnie could get to her favorite spot under the steps. She was very frightened of thunder and fire crackers and needed a safe refuge. We designed her hiding place in the remodeling plans, and it was built with proper molding just to fit Sunnie.

Her favorite food was butter. She would climb up on a table to eat a stick of butter someone left out. This lead to a brief period of eating leftovers from the table as well. To break her of this, one evening we laced the leftovers with tobasco sauce. That was the end of that habit! Her next favorite food was popcorn, and she would do tricks like a puppy for a single kernel. Her least favorite food was shrimp. Once when Noki gave her some shrimp, she rolled it around in her mouth a couple of times, spit it out, repeated the process, then that was it for shrimp.

Sunnie loved horseplay, but she was confused when the boys would goof around and play rough. It was as if she felt she need to protect one of them, but which one? She would try to grab onto the bottom of their pant legs with her teeth. Then she would start barking as if to say. "You guys just cut it out now."

In February, 1995, Sunnie started limping on her right front leg. I took her to Dr. Kris Hodges, her vet of 12 years. He thought it might be a soft tissue problem and gave her a regimen of cortisone and aspirin. She seemed to improve over the next few days and weeks. But she would still occasionally limp a little and would take longer and longer to coax out of her under the stairs spot in the mornings.

One cool April evening, she got very excited about something in the back yard. Part of Sunnie's 'thing' was still protecting us and her space against all invaders! I thought it was the cat that liked to walk by the back door and irritate her, so I let her out. Sunnie took out down the back yard like a shot. But she stopped in her tracks. I heard a desparate series of high pitch yelps; cries of pain. I ran out to find her sitting on her back honches with her paw in the air. It was difficult to get her back to the house.

I gave her aspirin and called Dr. Hodges the next morning. When we went in for examination, Kris found a large, nodular mass in her right humerus. Sunnie had bone cancer. She was also in much, much pain, and would begin crying and yelping even when noone was touching her. Kris said this condition was more painful than a broken bone, and that it would not get better. We were faced with a terrible decision.

Dogs trust their masters to take care of them as much as they give us their love and devotion. As good as it might seem for us to prolong her pain so we could continue to love her, in her eyes I saw the plea for help. Kris gave Sunnie a shot of cortisone and more tranquilizers for us to take with us, and I brought Sunnie home one last time to say goodbye to her family.

The last night was hard. Carolyn and Dick came by and took pictures of Sunnie. She received a constant vigil of caring and gentle stroking, and her old friend Allison, home from college the day before, spent the entire night curled up with her on the floor. In the morning, Alan and I gently carried her to the van by holding the corners of a blanket. At the vets we were assured that her end, an O.D. injection of phenobarbitol, would be painless. Kris started the I.V. as Alan and I stroked her. Sunnie sighed and closed her eyes as I said to her one last time, "Good dog, Sunnie is a good dog."

I can't really put into words how much Sunnie has meant to all of us. Our love for her. The protection she offered us on dark nights. The protection we offered her on stormy nights or during fireworks on the 4th of July. I can only say they she will be sorely missed. Missed, but remembered forever in our hearts.

We love you, Sunnie. Goodbye.


Gary L Johnston 5/6/95 (johnston@nku.edu)