When I was 12 I was walking along Interstate 1 with my cousin John and my friend Bill, we were headed home, although who knows where from. We come across these two drunk guys (not obnoxiously so) who yell to us "Hey kids, wanna dog?" About 2 months earlier my dog Stony had died, so there was definitely a need for a dog in my mind (and my heart).

Thus became Trouble.

Less than a year old, she was a big, friendly half-lab, half-german shepard mix (at least, that was always our guess). Of course, since no consultation was done with my mother beforehand, some amount of ingenuity was necessary to insure that we (at the time, John lived with us)got to keep her. A bathed, brushed, and red-wrapped ribbon dog, flanked by gawky pre-teens, awaited my mother when she got home.

Thus Trouble became a Dugan.

Up until I was 16 or so, she slept in my bed. Notice the lack of a "with me" in that statement. Because up until the age of 17 or so, I slept precariously perched on the edge of my bed, or pressed into the wall. She wasn't good at sharing bed space, and I can sleep through anything. When I was 17 we moved to a new house, and she became an "outside" dog. Although if it were just me at the house, I usually kept her in with me.

Once, Kyle Olson came home for lunch with me after school. We walk into the fenced in part of the yard, both talking and Kyle is carrying a cheeseburger (McDonald's) and is getting ready to take a bite out of it. Trouble had other plans, she comes bounding up, stands on her hind legs, kicks kyle right in the stomach with her front legs. Kyle doubles over, having just been kicked in the stomach by a 90 pound dog, and at this moment, his burger becomes vulnerable. Lightning fast Trouble has the burger and is gone. Having succesfully mugged my friend.

As she got older, she started to spend more and more time outside, in large part because she sheds an amount of fur you simply would NOT believe, and also because she really does prefer being outside. She loved to chase the rabbits, and later on, Samuel Elliot (a lab that Larry got for Mom).

Thus Trouble became an Aunt.

Trouble, like all dogs, got older, and last Fall she had a stroke. Fortunately it turns out that strokes are usually not dangerous for dogs, so long as they survive the initial stroke itself, recovery is usually pretty good. Indeed, she seemed to be more or less okay after a few days. But all in all, she was degrading. She had trouble getting up because her back legs were weak, she was starting to lose a lot of weight, and she was retaining a lot of fluid in her sides. That being said, she never seemed to be in pain through any of it, every time I saw her she came up to me as fast as she could, demanding to put her nose in my crotch and for me to pet her. As she got older, she also started to get... cantankerous. She did what she wanted to do, period. Which I thought was the funniest thing in existence. One time my mother and I were sitting on the porch having some lunch. Trouble just walked up, stuck her nose on the table, grabbed half my mom's sandwhich, and started munching on it. No begging, no sneaking, no running afterwards. Just ate the sandwhich.

Thus Trouble became crotchety

Last night my mom called me. Apparently when they got home trouble was refusing to eat or drink, and kept falling to the ground everytime she got up. They took her to the vet, but unfortunately she died in route. Larry was riding with her in the back of the car on the way to the vet, petting her when she passed away.

Thus Trouble became.

Up until yesterday, she was perfectly happy, and she went with very little pain. And happily, she didn't die alone. I suppose that's the best any of us can hope for.

Goodbye Trouble, you are loved and will be missed.