Duke, Starsky and Billy

Duke was a golden retriever. My son, Tim, got him for a Christmas present. Everyone loved Duke. He was highly intelligent and possessed considerable word recognition. Duke contracted breathing difficulties at age 12 and died in my arms as Beverly sped in our car toward the veterinarian’s office. I tried CPR but to no avail.

Tim, who raised steers, found two little dogs in his granddaddy’s barn. For a while, he fed them calf manna. Soon they followed him home, and that’s where they stayed. He named them Starsky and Hutch after two detectives on a popular TV show. Hutch was run over but Starsky lived 15 years. Starsky, a dog of mixed breeds, was a great watchdog who protected us. He slept right outside our bedroom window.

Duke, Starsky and I would go on long walks. Crossing a pecan grove, we encountered a pit bulldog and smaller dog. The dogs began to sniff one another. A fight erupted between the bulldog and Duke. I tried several times to put Duke, who weighed 80 pounds, over a nearby fence but it was too high. The fight restarted every time Duke hit the ground. The bulldog finally got a death grip over Duke’s left eye socket. Duke was crying out in pain. I hit and kicked the bulldog repeated but he wouldn’t let go. Starsky, well into old age, came to Duke’s defense. With a big mouth and sharp teeth, he took a plug out of the bulldog. Blood was flowing from Duke and the bulldog. I hopelessly struggled to free Duke who looked so pitiful in the bulldog’s vise-like grip.

I thought of retrieving a section of pipe about a 100-feet back, but did not want to maim or kill the bulldog. I thought of another plan: I would start running toward the distant railroad track. The minute I adid, the bulldog released his clamp and Duke became free. Duke and Starsky followed me running, the bulldog in hot pursuit. My chest was hurting. I was gasping for air but knew I had to maintain a fast pace to the fence, some 300-yards away, to prevent them from locking up again. When we made it to the fence, I picked up a limb to hold off the bulldog while putting my dogs over the fence. Afterward, I crawled over and the three of us lay there, totally exhausted, with blood all over us. The bulldog stood barking on the other side. We lay there for a long time, recuperating and looking at each other—a rare instance when minds, hearts and souls are fused together. It was a “oneness of spirit” that transcended the fact that I was human and they were animals.

Later, we walked back home on the railroad track. Duke and Starsky went to the vet for stitches. My clothes were bloody. Teeth marks were on my arms. Physically, I had been pushed to the breaking point. Thank God we survived. Do pets go to heaven? I hope so! Billy Graham stated that our pets will go to heaven if that’s what it takes to make us happy. I hope our two dogs, Duke and Starsky, will be there.

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