Friday, February 12, 2016

Our grand old golden

Timber, our steadfast family companion for 14 years, passed away this week.

Our grand old golden


When Timber, our 14-year-old golden retriever, received a grim diagnosis the day after Thanksgiving, I was prepared to have him put to sleep the following Monday.  But when he showed up for breakfast at 7:30, bright-eyed and tail-wagging, I realized it wasn't his time yet. He stayed on another five weeks, keeping up his appetite and making it regularly out into the backyard. We certainly appreciated the holiday season more with him around, as he greeted visitors with merry tail-thumping and happily soaked up all the goodwill that was sent his way.

Last week, I could tell life was getting more difficult for him every day so we made the decision to have him put to sleep on Monday afternoon. He went peacefully, with three family members holding and soothing him. He's buried at the edge of our backyard, facing onto a small woods with a creek running through the middle down a 20-foot embankment.

Most nights when I'd get home from work close to midnight, we'd walk out back and Timber would trot up to the back fence, sometimes bristling, fluffing his bushy tail and giving a few loud woofs to  warn off the deer back there. Often, I heard subsequent crashing in the dark. Once I even came face-to-face with a decent-sized buck across the fence when Timber was silently pointing at him with his body. Neither was apparently conceding the turf.  And a couple times, I heard great horned owls calling back and forth to each other in the trees. "Wouldn't want to be a bunny," I quipped to Timber as he cocked his head sideways to concentrate. I used to talk to him all the time.

Sunday night, I took Timber out for the last time. The moon was full, illuminating the woods in a serene half-light, with the trees all  individually silhouetted. In that spiritual moment, I knew in my soul that this was the vantage point where Timber should rest. Timber was too weak to make it all the way to the back fence so I sat in a wrought-iron chair near the back of the house and petted him for a few moments.

More coverage
Farewell to an old friend
Puppy Steps: George Carter blogs about raising a seeing eye dog

Timber came to us in November 1997 as an improbable rescue, a tiny golden fluff ball found running along a busy highway in Gloucester County and taken to the animal shelter. I sometimes wondered where he came from, if he strayed away from home or was callously dumped from a car. It didn't matter, not in the least. He was ours and always will be. And we are his. 

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About this blog
George Carter, The Inquirer's weekend national/foreign editor, has always counted dogs among his closest companions. According to family lore, he learned to walk by clinging to the side of a saintly patient mutt named Spanker. In turn, one of his earliest hazy memories is of tossing treats to the family dogs gathered expectantly on the porch of their Maryland farmhouse. It was only natural then, that when George saw a newspaper ad looking for families to raise puppies for the Seeing Eye of Morristown, N.J., he bit at the chance. From the start, it has been a family project, with teenage daughter Betsy as the official puppy-raiser. First there was Porter, a big-hearted yellow Lab born on Memorial Day 2004. A few years later, the Carters raised Velma, a gorgeous Lab/golden cross. Just a couple weeks ago, Velma's 7-week-old daughter Sparkle arrived as the latest family charge. George, Betsy and mom Cathy are thrilled that Sparkle is from Velma's very first litter. You can reach George Carter at 215-854-2411 or by clicking here. Reach George at

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