Duke

We often talk of friendships and the bonds that friends, true friends, share. I’ve never seen bonds stronger than those between Duke and his family. 

by Tom Runge

Duke.  AKA “Duker”.  AKA “Bubba.”  Part German Shepherd, part “dog”, and part wingman. 

My son, Jeremy, adopted Duke many years ago. Duke became a close friend, not only to Jeremy but also to his children – Karston, Maddy and JT. They were inseparable. Duke let Carol and I join the family…his heart could hold us all.

We often talk of friendship and the bonds that friends, true friends, share. I’ve never seen bonds stronger than the bonds between Duke and his family. Of course, Duke never said a thing—he didn’t have to—but like a great wingman he was always there and never out of position. Duke’s signature move was truly simple—he would walk up and put his front paw on your arm or leg. He would look straight into your eyes as if to say: ”I’m here—it’s all good.”

Duke was there when Jeremy suffered through a divorce. As Jeremy sought to find himself, Duke camped where Jeremy camped, walked in the downpours when Jeremy did, and shed a tear when Jer did.

Through all the kids’ ups and downs growing up, Duke was right there with his unfailing friendship.

When they were challenged with new jobs and new homes in different places, Duke handled it all. He always settled in without fanfare—he let the family know all was good. Paw-on-your-arm good.

As the years went by, Duke did what we all do—he slowed down. A little harder to get up. A little slower to go outside. But he never stopped moving. In his role as the great protector, best friend, and wingman, he never wavered. When that paw rested gently on my arm and those of Jeremy and his children, we knew all was good.  

In May of 2019, Carol and I headed west to be with the Jeremy’s kids as he was off to the East Coast for a business trip. We were there to hang with the children and do as much spoiling as we could.  

Duke, sadly, wasn’t the same-old-Duke. He really struggled to get up. To get around the house. Spent more and more time laying down. As Jeremy left on his trip on a Wednesday evening, Duke stopped eating. Later that evening, Duke couldn’t keep anything, even water, down. 

The next day I called the vet—one great guy. He wasn’t surprised at the nature of my call. We chatted. Two options—we picked the option to powerpack some steroids and nausea medicine. 

“If he is going to respond, it will happen in a couple of hours”, Doc said.  

Sadly, Duke didn’t respond. I don’t know if the word is “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t”, but it didn’t matter. Duke had lived well beyond every expectation, given the Runges his all, and was ready to move on.

Early on Friday morning, I was back on the phone with the vet. He had a full morning but would stop by early in the afternoon. Before school, Carol and I talked to the kids. It was time. Each of them wanted to say their own goodbyes in their own way.

Duke had spent almost 18 hours in the same place in Maddy’s room—the room where he had slept as friend and protector so many times. Duke’s hind legs had stopped working but he dragged himself so that he was looking outside. Maddy wanted him to eat and drink so badly she placed the food and water bowls an inch from his nose. 

Karston and JT were sure he was trying to get up and run outside, so Karston carried Duke outside to sit in the sun.

As the kids battled their emotions, I took a little time and sat reading my Kindle next to Duke. I don’t think I did it for Duke—I think I did it for me. Duke’s eyes were focused on the sunshine and the clouds. I just kept petting him as I read. No words needed. And then, slowly, the paw-on-my-arm. He was telling me “It’s OK.  I’m ready.”

When the vet arrived and saw us, all he could say was, “Ahh, Duke.”

He took a picture of Maddy, Karston, Carol, and me with Duke and then the kids said their goodbyes and moved out of Maddy’s room.

As Doc prepared the sedative and shot, he quietly told me “This part of what I do always gets to me.”

Duke slowly lowered his head, closed his eyes, and went to heaven. All dogs go to heaven.

Duke reminded me of so many of life’s lessons. Do good. Be there when you’re needed. Show you care. Give it your best. Do what is right. Actions are what counts. And, of course, go out with your head held high. 

We all miss you, Bubba.