As I write this from my laptop at home, I immediately note the degree of difficulty.

Basically, I'm bummed out because usual companion when I work from home is not at my feet or staring at me as I create. There's a clear void.

I'm not going to attempt to claim that Rocky was the most amazing, incredible dog in the world. Millions of other dog-owners could counter that with their own "wonder dogs." But he was the most amazing, incredible dog at my house.

Early Monday morning, we had to make the decision that probably every dog-owner or pet owner fears and dreads the most. Rocky, a border collie mix about 60 pounds, was 14 years old and his health finally broke down over the weekend but not without a knockdown, dragout fight. "We don't see many 14-year-old dogs that size," said the vet as he laid out the options.

Rocky came into our family on Super Bowl weekend of 1995 beginning, from this viewpoint, a super physical achievement. In 14 years until the very end, he had only one major medical problem (a torn ACL) and he never saw the vet except for routine or minor checkups.

It seems to be an inherent right of any columnist to write a salute to his dog at the time of his passing. It might even be considered cliche, although I confess I've read every word of every such column I've come across through the years. And I was moved and was tearful every time.

A warning. As I tell what made Rocky special in our household, have the tissue ready. I have some next to me.

It started when our son, Gavin, in the first grade at the time, began campaigning for a real dog instead of his bountiful collection of stuffed animals. Upon hearing of this, Colleen Holt, the assistant city editor of the Log Cabin at the time, told of a friend in north Arkansas who had taken an abandoned border collie mix into her home and while taking care of the early shots and house-training routine, was looking for a good home for the rescued animal, preferably one with a little boy.

That border collie was a special birthday surprise.

There are two amazing developments at this point:

Beverly had always told me she would never have a large, long-haired dog who would roam inside the house. We were about to acquire, on a long-term basis, a large, long-haired dog who would spend most of his time in the house (especially after his ACL surgery about age 4). Yeh, never say never, particularly in the case of a kid and dog.

In an early conversation about getting a dog, Beverly asked Gavin if he had a name in mind. Gavin replied, "I'd probably name him Rock And Roll, Rocky for short."

When we made initial contact with the caregiver of the dog, who had apparently been abused but kept popping up for several days at her husband's place of business, she said that during the time she cared for him during his early puppy days, her family had already named him and he was responding to it. "We call him Rocky," she said.

When I informed her that was exactly the name that Gavin had already picked out, we knew we had a perfect match.

Rocky had traditional border collie markings with a collie face and body. And what was remarkable to us through the years was his deeply ingrained and natural herding and watchdog habits: He would never sleep until each member of the family retired to bed and into our proper "stalls." When we were in different rooms, he would position himself into the middle. In his younger days, he would race behind us and nip at our rears or nudge us with his nose to get us pointed in what he considered the right direction. When we were in the den, he would find an observation post so he could watch every door. He barked at every one of the many walkers, runners and joggers who traveled our street like they had were in the wrong place and strayed from the fold.

When we were out and returned home, he would be waiting that bright, eager look in his eye at the door or maybe at the top of the hall steps with that "Now, just where have you been expression."

And when Gavin rode a school bus a couple of years, Rocky would uncannily (often waking up from a nap) move upstairs and position himself outside the living room door close to the exact time the bus would arrive day after day.

He was better than weather radar. He would awaken us, nudge us with a cold nose and bark at least 30 minutes before an impending thunderstorm hit, even when we could not hear the thunder.

During teething, he took apart all our houseplants, a small tree outside and a Brio set. We had to replace our blinds because they had multiple teeth marks in them when he pulled them away many days when he spotted a suspicious person or truck in the neighborhood.

His first winter with us, there was snow and ice and we were worried about him being outside. We looked out a window one morning to see him perched on a knoll in our backyard, regally spread out, seemingly smiling and relaxing on a slab of ice like a beach bum sunning on the sands at Destin. Even when some temperatures approached zero, we never noticed that he was ever cold. In fact, the colder it got, the more zip in his step, the more he wanted to frolic outside.

Through the different stages childhood, puberty, teenaged and college years, Gavin and Rocky grew up and matured in parallel, often intersecting, universes.

Rocky had special loving touches for everyone. Our son was the only person we knew that Rocky would lick lovingly in the face. Rocky liked to follow me around, then sit and observe with an eager, fascinated but playful stare. He particularly enjoyed watching me mow the yard. He would rush to the door as soon he saw me put on my yard-cutting shoes. He preferred to walk up to my wife, tail wagging, then sit down and pant, indicating that he was in an official petting zone and he was available for petting

We truly believe when cats came into the household about age seven, they probably added three or four years to his life. He loved the challenge of trying to herd and control them. Attempting to supervise them seemingly gave him a whole new purpose for existence.

As he developed major arthritis in his rear legs as he passed the average life span of dogs his size, he still carefully, often strangely and in gimpy style sometimes painful to watch, managed to climb two sets of stairs to our bedroom every night. Nothing could keep him from his appointed rounds. It was sheer determination. I've seen many an athletic achievement in my day. This was one of them.

As things began to suddenly deteriorate and fall apart over the weekend, he fought tenaciously to retain his quality of life. It was a five-hour ordeal to finally get him into the car to take to the emergency clinic. I was mad at that but also admired the spunk, heart and tenacity I'd witnessed from many great athletes. On his last day, it took three clinic workers to place him on a table for the IV that carried fluids. He fought against the inevitable and for life like wild stallion.

Then, the clinic staff said Sunday night the fight suddenly finally left him. The effects of being the human equivalent of 100-plus years had taken their toll. His body was breaking down and he seemed to finally give up.

Rocky was almost comatose when Gavin and I paid a final visit late Sunday night. He was lying on his side, barely breathing, no response, even when you touched his face and limbs.

Realizing clearly that it was "time," Gavin and I said a prayer thanking God for 14 great years with Rocky as representative of the whole of His creation.

Then, seconds after the amen, something coincidental, magic or divine (however you care to characterize it) happened. Rocky's eyes dramatically popped open and he recognized us, he quickly reared his head and neck and tried to move about the best he could to allow us to pet and love him. I think he would have licked Gavin one more time if he could have broken the restraining devices.

We knew there would be no long-term miracle. His body was wrapped in blankets that masked internal bleeding, Rocky's condition was in a downward spiral indicated there was only a smidgeon of quality of life remaining.

But Gavin and I petted and hugged and kissed and loved an out-of-the-blue alert Rocky with those bright, eager eyes we'll always remember for several minutes. You'll never convince me that those final moments of precious, quality time in which Rocky recognized us and readily accepted our final acts of love were not an answer to our prayers. We got a wonderful chance to say goodbye.

Rocky came into our lives as seemingly a wild coincidental answer to a young boys' prayers for just the right pet.

For a few extraordinary and treasured moments, he left with many blessings and as a blessing a 14-year blessing that touched us in so many ways.

(Sports columnist David McCollum can be reached at 505-1235 or david.mccollum@thecabin.net)

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