He was
A big, beautiful boy,
Playful, mischevious,
Eerily intelligent,
And the pride
Of my father's heart.
Though he lived
A mere five years,
He filled each day
With unabashed joy,
Harrassing his penmate,
Chasing birds,
And meeting my father
At the gate
With laughing blue eyes,
Always eager for a walk
Down the lane,
Across the fields,
And through the countryside,
Pulling his favorite person
As if he were 
The lead dog
In the Iditarod.
He seldom barked,
Often howled,
The long, mournful notes
A primordial call of the wild
That raised goosebumps
On those who heard them
From the safety
Of their homes.
He was
One of God's many gifts
And we called him Adak,
Named
For that blustery
Aleutian isle
That suited him
More than
The hot and humid south,
A name we now mourn
As he returns across
That rainbow bridge,
No doubt eager
To explore,
Tightly curled tail
Wagging happily,
Eyes once more laughing,
Free as he never could be
Here on earth.