Bear was a good pup. She always welcomed me loudly when I cam home late from hardcore shows, or when I snuck in from the Rompin Room for some Oreo's and milk. Usually Dad would wake up from the door opening or from bear barking and join me. We would sit, the dogs sitting under the table or in the dining room, and dunk our cookies together, talking of life, love, hate, politics, religion (or lack thereof), etc. Even as she got older, and her seizures began to strip her of her vitality, she was such a loving and faithful pup. As her mind went, her love stayed put. My Mom was crucial in taking care of her, and always knew just how to calm the poor lady down. Last year her brother, Wolf, died. I wasn't there to see him off. But it was a rough time for me, being alone in NYC, feeling alienated from everyone I loved and cared for, and hearing my Dad tell the story of Bear wandering around the backyard, digging and sniffing, trying to find her brother out there in the backyard somewhere, trying to dig him up and bring him back.
She tolerated my pup Lemon's harassment, as long as Lemon didn't take her chair from her. She will be missed.