I have had many memorable dogs pass through my life, but none so special as Tamar. She was a German Shepherd I found by accident at a farm in Quebec. The owners had broken her right ear and her tail. I offered to take her and the asked for some money because she was a pedigree. Her father was the Count of LeMans and I don't recll the mother's name. Her mother was the prettiest dog I have ever seen. Tamar inherited size from her father and looks from her mother. Her temperament was ruined when I met her. Hated the world and suspected everything in it to be her enemy. In her world it was that way.

I took her back to Montreal and spent the better part of a year training her and getting her used to kindness. At the age of two, she understood my hand signals. She developed a wonderful demeanor and had a loyalty that was beyond comprehension. Animals have often captured my heart, but this gal took a piece of my soul, too.

George's dog, Mister, was a Shepherd-Collie cross. He was a misreable thing who made the mistake of growling at me (as he did with many people) in front of Tamar. She had him by the throat, picked him up by it, turned to me and it was plain that the decision the Roman's made about gladiators was a decision I too would have to make about Mister. Mister lived for about four more years.

I got very drunk one evening about four blocks from where I lived. Tamar was with me. She got me home. I remember nothing about that evening. People said she herded me for the whole walk. Wouldn't let anyone else near me.

I took her to a lake in her third year and she jumped off a wharf. She sank and all I could see along the surface of the water was the tip of her tail. I jumped in figuring she'd drown. There she was chasing fish--catching none. I dragged her to the surface and it then struck me that she'd never learned to swim, something I thought came naturally to dogs. When she saw me floating on the surface, she seemed to connect the dots. I was never able to go in the water after that without her. If I went beneath the surface she was close behind me.

A fellow on the street in the city yelled at me for some reason. Tamar got between the two of us and that was the first time I ever heard her growl. I had never seen her angry with a human before that moment. Trust me when I say that seventy-five pounds of pissed off German Shepherd is lotsa pissed off. She didn't attack, but I know she would have had I indicated she should.

The most difficult part of training her was when I would put my hand in her food dish while she was eating. It took days before she would just sit and wait until I withdrew my hand. Making her drop food from her mouth was hard also, but she learned quickly and obeyed completely.

She had a sense of humour and would leave the room when I played music she didn't like. She seemed to enjoy soft songs and not really care for rock. Children were totally safe with her. I saw her from a window when she didn't know I was looking. A toddler was pulling her ear ans had his arm about halfway in her mouth. She was gentle while she worked herself away from the child.

Eventually I had to give her to my aunt and uncle. They had come to love her, and the course of my life was such that I could no longer keep her. I received a phone call when Tamar was eleven. My aunt requested my permission to have her put down. Hip dysplasia was making Tamar's life miserable; she was in pain daily. Of course I said yes. Then I cried for days.

I have few possessions in this world. The ones I treasure are photographs of my children, grandmother and grandfather, and a single picture of Tamar who was my companion and friend for three years. I don't know that dogs love, but I suspect they do. My wish for her is a quiet lake and soft songs. I know she would wish the same for me.

BM