Two dogs. One promise.

Oliver was born into a beautiful litter of six Yellow Labs from a good breeder.  My two kids and I fell in love immediately with the chubbiest, laziest, and the cutest puppy in the entire litter, and named him Oliver.  He seemed perfectly content to let the other puppies tumble and play around him while he conserved his energy for more important things—like eating and sleeping.  This would always be his personality. 

Oliver was an extraordinary dog, and my true Heart Dog. He was calm, gentle, loving, and completely devoted to us. He was exceptionally well behaved, except for a short period of time around six months.  The baseboards in our house became a favorite snack.  So did the outdoor teak furniture.  Not just one chair, the entire set.  By the time Oliver finished with it, it was reduced to a thousand toothpicks in our backyard. 

When Oliver was nine months old, our lives changed forever.  My husband was lost in an aircraft accident.  My kids were only thirteen and fourteen years old.  There are some moments that divide a family's life permanently into before and after.  This was ours.  And somehow, in the middle of that unimaginable loss, our Oliver was there for us.  Oliver seemed to sense the grief and would jump into bed with the kids.  He was their companion, their comfort, and their protector.  Oliver would lie beside them, put his head against them,  let them wrap their arms around him and bury their faces in his fur.  He just knew what to do. 

Oliver was a water dog through and through.  Simply retrieving a toy from the surface of the swimming pool wasn't challenging enough for him. Oliver learned to dive all the way to the bottom of the pool to retrieve his water toys. He would corkscrew his chubby body beneath the surface, determined to find whatever had been thrown for him, and then emerge triumphantly with his prize.   

And then there was the boat.  He went with us every weekend.  The moment the kids were in the water, Oliver would launch himself off the swim step and into the water to join them.  Throw a toy into the water and Oliver would happily launch himself after it again and again.   

Oliver went to work with me every day.  He loved all of my employees, and they absolutely adored him.  Oliver made his rounds through the office each day as though checking on everyone was part of his official job description.  And Oliver took one particular responsibility very seriously:  Finding food.  Oliver loved food.  Really loved food.  As a result, he spent a good portion of his life on a diet.  Oliver had a beloved blue food bowl, and he figured out that carrying it into someone's office was an extremely effective way to get food.  He would simply wander into one of my employees' offices, and stand there patiently waiting for a treat.  Eventually, I was forced to take more drastic measures.  I hung a sign around Oliver's neck:  PLEASE DON'T FEED ME. MOM SAYS I'M ON A DIET!  There was always someone willing to overlook the sign and slip Oliver a treat.  He wasn't just an office dog who happened to belong to me.  He belonged to everyone. 

Our mornings included another little ritual.  Oliver would walk down the driveway with me every morning to get the newspaper.  One morning,  I opened the door and said, "Oliver, go get the paper."  To my amazement, Oliver trotted down the driveway, picked up the newspaper and brought it back to me.  Oliver had simply been paying attention all those mornings.  From then on, Oliver would retrieve the newspaper on his own. One morning Oliver went to get the paper as usual, but there was no paper in the driveway.  Oliver searched.  There, sitting in my neighbor's driveway, was a newspaper.  Problem solved.  Off he went.  Oliver trotted right over to my neighbor's driveway, picked up their newspaper, and proudly brought it back to me. 

When Oliver was twelve years old, our world was shattered again. Our house caught fire.  Oliver was inside.  The Fire Department and First Responders made valiant efforts to save him. They gave Oliver oxygen using the traditional equipment available to them at the time—equipment designed for people, not for dogs. In spite of their efforts, he couldn’t be revived.  

The First Responders who tried to save Oliver didn't fail him. They worked with the equipment they had available and did everything they could.  But the fact that they only had equipment made for a human being was an important factor.  Another firefighter on another day might carry someone's beloved dog from a burning home.  Another First Responder might kneel beside that animal and desperately try to help.  And perhaps, with the right equipment in their hands, the ending could be different.  Oliver had spent his life giving to other people.  Maybe his story wasn't finished yet.  This is when Christy and I knew the Duke and Oliver Foundation had many missions to accomplish for our beloved Heart Dogs, Duke and Oliver.