As The Poet Said

Robert Frost once wrote: "Nothing gold can stay." Old Bob might have been talking about a lot of things, but currently I believe he was referring to Seamus.
Seamus is our friend and his original gold has a dusting of snow these days. His pathological need to retrieve has abated, but not disappeared completely. There were days not too long ago when he would go from prone to sixty miles an hour down our front steps to get the ball we threw for him. When he stopped by a few days ago, he was still enamored of that ball, but his friskiness had abated somewhere to the point that he appeared to be an old dog.
How could Seamus have suddenly become an old dog?
The cancers.
We became familiar with the Golden Retriever susceptibility to all sorts of nasty cancers from his mom, a neighbor of ours. She used to talk wistfully of her prior dog who had gone to heaven some years back. Consequently she had enrolled Seamus in a study when she had first come to her in order to keep a watchful eye on any such unfortunate developments.
How could this vital force of nature be slowed down by anyone or anything? Seamus' favorite greeting was the full-body wag assault, leading an eventual attempt to merge his skull with yours. We were always glad to welcome him into our home, especially after a dog-shaped hole was left in our lives Aside from the occasional drop-ins when he and his mom were on their way up the street to the post office or the pastry shop, we welcomed him in for a dogsit when he couldn't go to Hawaii. Seamus reminded us of all the ways that having a big furry reminder of unconditional love made everything better. Going for a run, sitting on the couch, opening the front door. Everything was an event. Everything was new.
And now we prepare to send Seamus off on the next leg of his journey. He and his mom came by so we could say our proper farewells. His new and subdued manner let us know that the clock was sadly winding down. The thunder that he once was had grown more distant, but he was still enthusiastic enough to go after a tennis ball that rolled under our couch.
Oh, how he will be missed. Seamus ran and stomped and dug around the Terra. Like all dogs, he will go to heaven where no one ever gets tired of tossing the ball for him. And that's where the gold will stay. Aloha.