I have been a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel owner for decades. I love the dog breed and have even adopted rescue ‘Cavs’ over the years. I have a rather large photo of my dog, ZuZu hung prominently in my living room, along with a box containing her ashes nearby.

Currently I have three of the breed who surround my life throughout the day. I know you’re not supposed to have  a  favorite, but Checkers, a rescue from the Humane Society of Wayne County, catches my eyes the most. He was once owned by a breeder and spent much of his early life in a cage. During our first meeting, he was reserved,  and scared shitless, until he realized my home was his home.

Checkers is still a bit timid meeting strangers, but his fur has the softness of the clan. He is not outspoken like my other two, Scout and Dewey. He is never pushy, never grabs, but fully appreciates food and treats.

Both Scout and Dewey have strong personalities and flaws, but I adore both for who they are.

Checkers stands out because he rarely leaves my side, following me from room to room and the first to look  for a scratch and hug.  A year ago he slowly lost his hearing, not unusual for the breed getting up in years. Cataracts in both eyes made focusing harder as time passed.

While his companions run around chasing whatever and smelling whatever, Checkers stays calm, cool and collected. Checkers is now twelve years old and I knew the day would approach, but not as soon as it did.

Recently, while at the groomers, a large lump was discovered near his neck and jaw, something I had totally missed.

A trip to the vets and examination was followed by blood work and a diagnosis. The news was really bad. Checkers has cancer and another smaller, undetected lump was found on his stomach.

The doctor said it was impossible to remove the larger mass due to its position, growth and severity. It would only be a matter to time.

It was recommended to take our Cavalier home and let him live out his days in peace.

Over the next few weeks, the sickness became more prevalent. He could no longer willingly jump and settle down, roaming more than usual to find the right positioning.

As time passed, eating and chewing with the growth nearing ever so closer  to his jaw, became more difficult, The hard daily chew bones were replaced with something more digestible.  

His daily meals of once gobbled  nuggets was mixed with canned wet food and softer delectables, with him still eating more slowly as time passed.

He was still eager to eat, but it was becoming a chore. Yes, he still wanted the daily Milk Bone biscuits and tooth cleaning ‘Greenies’ given to the brood  to chew in private, but now he slipped away from the others to determine the best way through the task.

Nightly tooth brushing has now given away to Wife Patti simply putting the peanut flavored toothpaste on her fingers  and allowing him to lick, instead of inserting the tooth brush into his mouth.

Running up and jumping on the recliner with Dad is ever so more difficult as the lumps grow even larger, now the size of a baseball.

 When he was going through a really tough times I would sit on the floor and just hold him until the bad passed.

This past Tuesday I had to ask the question: Was I holding out for more time for Checkers, or for me? We stared at each other and I knew the time had come. I hugged him for what seemed an eternity and the call to the vet was made.

Later in the early evening, with a flood of tears, we made the final voyage. Quietly petting my close buddy for the past eight years ,the first shot was given. Slowly he became limp and his eyes slowly closed. I held him dearly as the second dose was administered. He slipped away forever, peacefully.

As I write this column days later, my eyes are still flowing with the tears of loss.