It was nearly a decade ago that my ex-wife and I adopted Bob, and it has been one hell of a ride. He was a lover, a fighter, a tubthumper, the bearer of many names, a movie star and the star of a sermon (which, sadly, is not available online). He was, above all, so very present, typical of the Australian Shepherd‘s “velcro dog” tendencies.

Which has made it all the more difficult to bear his absence in the week since we put Bob to sleep, following his long struggle with canine renal failure. When doing training with Bob, among the commands I learned was one to release him from his sit, stay or down. “OK. Go,” I was taught to say in a nonchalant manner. The idea was — hey, you listened, you obeyed. Swell. Now you’re free. No big deal. Go ahead, run around.

OK, Bob. Go.

In that vein, let’s cap this off with a tune from Bob’s namesake.

 

Update: I forgot I had taken this brief video of Bob cavorting at the beach. What a find!