For any true dog man, the bond shared with our canine companions runs deeper than mere pet ownership; it’s a profound connection that shapes our lives, teaches us empathy, and often brings us face-to-face with life’s most challenging moments. Among these, few are as heartbreaking as a cancer diagnosis. Yet, even in the shadow of this devastating disease, there are often unexpected triumphs—lessons learned, spirits uplifted, and relationships strengthened. This is a dog man’s three stories in one, a personal journey through love, loss, and the enduring legacy left by Mud, Beau, and Messi, three extraordinary dogs who, in their own ways, taught me that cancer, in the end, doesn’t always win.
Mud: The First Love and a Father’s Tears
My very first dog was a magnificent 90-pound chocolate Labrador named Mud. He arrived in my life when I was around four years old, a quintessential outdoor dog with the boundless energy characteristic of his breed. We spent our formative years together, his boisterous spirit mirroring my own childhood enthusiasm. I have vivid memories, aided by old photographs, of a young Mud panting happily in the September heat, as I knelt beside him in the dove field, already captivated by the outdoors.
By the age of five, I was a regular fixture accompanying my dad and Mud on our field excursions. As an only child, Mud quickly became the brother I never had, solidifying my passion for the wilderness and, more importantly, for dogs. He was the first four-legged creature I ever truly loved. Our summers were often spent beneath the sprawling walnut tree in our backyard, where I had a large turtle sandbox. Mud would expertly dig down into the cool sand, seeking comfort from the heat, and I would dig alongside him, convinced we were unearthing buried treasure. Mud also had an innovative outdoor self-feeding unit, quite revolutionary for its time. True to his Labrador nature, Mud adored food. As we both grew older, I never knew him to skip a meal, not even as his once vibrant chocolate muzzle began to grizzle with gray. So, when his appetite suddenly vanished, I instinctively knew something was terribly wrong. His abrupt disinterest in food was a stark and worrying change. You might also find other inspiring sled dog narratives that showcase the deep connection between humans and dogs.
The vet’s diagnosis was devastating: Mud had cancer, and his time with us was drawing to a close. His final days were spent experiencing the comforts of indoor life, a rare treat for our outdoor dog, and he enjoyed every last bite of my plate’s leftovers. Finally, when the cancer had all but consumed him, we made the heart-wrenching decision to put him to sleep. It was my 16th birthday.
Saying goodbye to Mud before we drove him to the vet was an incredibly surreal experience. It was the first time I had ever witnessed my father cry. In the 16 years since that day, I’ve seen perhaps one or two more tears from the man I consider my rock. Expressing and overtly showing emotion was not a trait typically passed down through the Burnley men. But on that rainy March day, I saw, with profound clarity, just how much Mud meant to my father. I watched him lower his guard, the raw pain etched onto his face. The cancer may have claimed Mud’s life, but it brought out the very best in my Dad. He showed me that it’s perfectly acceptable to express emotion, to take the time to tell someone, or some-pup, exactly how you feel before you say goodbye. It was one of the hardest days of my life, but Dad wrapped his arms around me and offered some much-needed perspective. Instead of dwelling on the end, he urged me to focus on all the incredible memories the three of us had shared in the field – from Mud retrieving my very first duck in a frigid December slough to him loyally traversing murky swamps to pick up my first banded bird in the Henderson Wildlife Refuge. Cancer took Mud’s life that day, but his memories forged a stronger bond between Dad and me. And in that way, cancer lost.
Beau: Living Life to the Fullest, Despite the Diagnosis
Three years ago, I met my beautiful bride, and with her came a gentle, light yellow Labrador named Beau. Beau was, quite simply, a good boy; the kind of dog anyone seeking a loyal best friend would instantly adore. He was sweet, incredibly loving, and possessed an unusually mild-mannered disposition. It was my first encounter with a Labrador exhibiting such a serene temperament. My bride-to-be had even taught him how to bark on command, a trick I found incredibly cool, having never owned a dog capable of such a feat. Sarah, it seemed, checked all the boxes: beautiful, intelligent, witty, and with a wonderfully well-behaved dog. I fell in love with Beau as swiftly as I fell in love with Sarah.
Beau was only six years old when a subtle limp in his back leg prompted a vet visit for what we initially suspected was an ACL injury. As it turned out, cancer had made its unwelcome second appearance in the life of my canine companions. This time, the diagnosis truly hit home. Beau was in the prime of his life, a healthy, vibrant dog. I envisioned a future where I could take him to The Country Club every day, alongside my other dogs, Goose and Tag. How could this perfectly healthy dog be fine one day and then be given only six months to live the next?
It felt incredibly unfair, but then again, cancer doesn’t adhere to any rules. It strikes without warning, choosing its time and place indiscriminately. We felt utterly helpless. Our options were amputation and/or chemotherapy. Chemo offered no guarantees, and the thought of injecting toxic chemicals into Beau without him comprehending the reasons was unbearable. We opted for amputation, hoping it might stave off the cancer long enough to grant us a few more precious months with him. After recovering from the operation, he was Beau again. He hopped a bit more than before, certainly, but his characteristic spunk and lovable personality were back in full force. We even embarked on a road trip to South Carolina and enjoyed hiking together. For a time, we managed to forget about the cancer entirely and simply savored our moments with Beau. Although the disease eventually claimed his life, it never managed to stop him from truly living. And in that way, cancer lost. Just like Beau’s resilience, you can read a touching dog story about other dogs who inspire.
Messi: A Force of Nature and a Final Journey Home
Once The Country Club opened and I began training full-time, a new, unforgettable character entered my life: a barrel-chested, endlessly energetic, ball-obsessed yellow Labrador named Messi. His parents brought Messi and his brother for three weeks of intensive training with me last July. From the moment I met him, I was utterly captivated by Messi. I had never worked with a dog possessing such relentless drive. It was exhilarating, and I loved every minute of it. Everyone at The Club knew Messi because most employees struggled to manage his boundless energy, unique personality, and sometimes mischievous behaviors – like running around the play yard with his own leash in his mouth, refusing to be caught.
Despite his antics, Messi was one of the most well-trained dogs I had ever worked with. This was largely because Messi had a very small, select circle of people he genuinely liked and respected. I was fortunate enough to be one of them. If you were in his inner circle, he was completely off-leash trained, and you could confidently take him anywhere. I had the privilege of training him again during Thanksgiving and once more over Christmas. Even during a flu outbreak when Messi developed a cough, his incredible energy never once wavered. The story of Messi’s drive is as compelling as any film about a husky dog displaying remarkable endurance.
Sarah also developed a deep affection for Messi during his many visits and the extensive time I spent training him and his brother. During one of his most recent stays, Sarah was supervising the boys during playtime when she noticed a small, concerning lump on the side of Messi’s broad chest. We soon learned that his parents were already aware of it and were anxiously awaiting the test results. For a dog who had yet to turn three years old, the eventual diagnosis was the worst imaginable news.
Inoperable due to its challenging location, cancer once again struck me with a painful blow. And he wasn’t even my dog! Messi’s family had a trip planned long before his diagnosis, and because of our strong relationship with him, we were happy to keep him one last time. For the first few days of his stay, he was a little more subdued than his normal boisterous self. However, if you had never seen him before, you would have still believed he was perfectly healthy. Even with his bright, intelligent eyes still sparkling, he couldn’t completely hide the growing lump on his chest or the subtle slowing of his step.
A few nights into their stay, the boarding staff went to feed dinner, but Messi didn’t greet them at the door with his usual enthusiasm. He didn’t even touch his food, a clear sign that he wasn’t feeling well. Sarah and I decided he would be far more comfortable in a home environment, so we brought him home with us to finish out his stay. On July 4th, we knew he urgently needed to see the doctor because his belly had become distended. A trip to Blue Pearl, a veterinary emergency and specialty hospital, confirmed our deepest fear: the cancer had spread, and he had begun to bleed internally into his belly. My heart sank, and my eyes welled up. All I wanted was for him to hold on, just long enough to see his family again. Finding a mystery at a dog show can be intriguing, but nothing compares to the real-life mysteries of pet health.
That became our new, singular mission: keep him going so he could see his family one last time. It was an arduous five days, filled with round-the-clock care. A change in medication and routine helped Messi maintain a little fire in his eyes. Sarah and I vigilantly watched over him, ensuring he received constant comfort and support, all so he could experience the joy of reuniting with his family. While this was undoubtedly a small victory, and in no way cured him, I knew it meant the world to his family. Messi passed away last Sunday, but he did so surrounded by those who loved him most, his human family right by his side. And in that way, cancer lost.
Energetic yellow Labrador Messi with a focused gaze, showcasing his strong drive and unique personality.
Conclusion
Cancer may take a dog’s life, but it can never erase our cherished memories of them. It can diminish a dog’s physical energy, but it cannot extinguish their indomitable spirit. I shared this blog post to help process the grief of losing these incredible companions to such a horrific disease, but I am not one to let such a force get the better of me. It certainly couldn’t take the best of Mud, Beau, and Messi. Their spirits, their lessons, and the love they shared continue to live on, proving that even in loss, there is profound victory. The journey of a dog man is defined not by the number of dogs he has, but by the depth of his bond with each.
The National Canine Cancer Foundation is doing groundbreaking work in the field of canine cancer research. Donations directly fund crucial research grants for scientists and medical professionals dedicated to studying this disease and finding ways to conquer it. The Country Club and I have made a memorial donation in honor of Beau and Messi, a small tribute to their courageous fight against cancer. Please click on the link below to learn more about the NCCF and discover how you can contribute to this vital cause. Together, we can strive to ensure that cancer loses for good, for all the beloved dogs yet to come.
References
- National Canine Cancer Foundation. “Donate to the National Canine Cancer Foundation.” We Are The Cure, wearethecure.org/donate-to-the-national-canine-cancer-foundation/. Accessed [Current Date, e.g., 26 May 2024].
