Let me tell you about “Wolfer”. He was a rust colored Husky, and I always said Huskies should have the name “Polaris” in there somewhere. Why? because it seems that when they would stray away, which is always, their eyes, and their heart point northward toward an ancestral home.
Wolfer was so loved by all in the family. We were always tolerant of his wayward jaunts, and would with worrisome apprehension, set out on a recovery mission.
The last time Wolfer had the opportunity to step away from home, we weren’t so fortunate.
As a rule, our search pattern would take us but a few square blocks from home, and there he would always be—eager to get into the car for the return trip home.
This last day, in the fading light of an Autumn afternoon, we just couldnt find him. I took my daughter home, and resumed the search with a growing sense of anxiety. I went through all the familiar trails, hopeful to find him. I did not.
Then, as I turned toward an uphill road leading out of town, I saw a bundle of rust colored fur lying on the side of the road. I drove on, and turned around, pulling up slowly to where this “thing” was. I got out of my car, and walked forward. As I looked down, I saw that it was Wolfer. He was dead, and I wondered if he had died naturally, or had been the victim of a hit and run driver.As I gathered him up in my arms, a car pulled up and a young man got out. He came to me, and admitted that he was responsible for the death of my lopving, and much loved pet. I assured him that there were no feelings of anger within me, and I accepted his sincere apology.
Then came the ride home with my little buddy lying motionless in the back. I knew my daughter would be even more heartbroken than I was and dreaded the short ride ahead.
By now it was growing dark, and when I pulled into the driveway at home, my daughter came out hurriedly, and asked if I had found our wayward Wolfer. With a tear in my eyes, I simply motioned to the back seat, and asked her to go into the back yard.
I carried Wolfer carefully to the back yard where we laid him to rest on his favorite blanket. Mark, I can not begin to tell you how reduced to a numbed mass of humanityI was as I sat on the steps watching keri cradle Wolfer in her arms, saying nothing, but conveying a lot to me. She sat that way for a full hour, and finally, I told her it was time to put him to rest. We did, and I cried the whole while, remembering all thew times we had had so much fun together. A father, his daughter, and their beloved Wolfer.
We planted flowers above his grave, and to this day some ten years later, when the first warm days of Spring send forth the floral reminders of our wonderful friend, I sit out back and reminisce. My daughter also joins me, and we sit there in silent rembrance.
As apostscript to all this, the father of the young man who hit my pal threatened me with a lawsuit aimed at recovering the cost of repair to damages suffered by his late model Jaguar. I invited him over to discuss the matter more fully, but wisely, he declined,

Thank you Mark for allowing us to share our loss with you and your audience. We are grateful.
Steve and daughter Keri from NJ