I've always said that George, our dog, had a great big heart in a big body.  He loved everybody; he did not know a stranger.

George died last week.  He died of cancer of the liver; the cancer eventually metastasized, going to other parts of his body.  He was very sick; we figured the best thing to do was to have the veterinanarian put him out of his misery; he suffered greatly.  It was the hardest decision we had to ever make as pet owners.

Now that he's gone, we see reminders of George everywhere: his toys are still in the same spot, and his favorite spot on the couch still has his shape.  We see pictures of him adorning our walls in the living room and we think we hear his deep-throated bark or see him out of the corners of our eyes at night, only to discover that he is no longer with us.

George was beautiful: a fantastic specimen of a Great Dane if there ever was one.  He was a lovely shade of tan with a black muzzle, and ears that stuck straight up, giving him a quizzical, mischevous look.  His eyes were big, dark brown, and sparkled with life.  I had gotten George as a birthday present from my wife; we had him for over 10 years.  He had a good, long, happy life.  Then he got sick; within a few months, we had to say our goodbyes.

We may eventually end up giving George's toys, food and water bowls, and favorite blanket to the local animal shelter, but right now I can't bear to part with them just yet.

I just hope that if we decide to get another pet, it will be one as wonderful as George was.  Replacing George will be difficult at best; there will never be another quite like our Gentle Giant.