Today Mulley, we decided to end your pain, suffering, and confusion and thus your life on this earth. What a good life it was. You came to me on 5/14/98 from Aussie Rescue's Karyl Heathman. You were about a year old and had been living on your own for an extended period of time before having the good fortune of being turned over to Karyl. You were pretty wild and crazy, but I was desperate to find a replacement for my first Aussie, Bogey. My other dog, Birdie, had not eaten for three weeks after Bogey's death. Her grief was so severe. I thought I was going to lose her too. She ate the day you came in the house. A great start to our life together. I got you for the wrong reason, but you gave me many good reasons to celebrate your life. I named you Mulligan, a golfing term, meaning to "do over" or a second chance without penalty. I loved your name but often thought Duke, Prince or King would have called attention to your noble nature. I have to smile when I think of how fearful I was of making unfair comparisons of you to the wonderful Bogey. Oh, I made comparisons, but you fared very well in all of them. You and Bogey made me an Aussie fan for life. We stumbled a bit when I enrolled you in an obedience class too soon, and you attacked another dog. With some guidance from Karyl and her team, we recovered. You gave me the gift of your trust , and I was privileged to be at your side. You transformed yourself from a suspicious, wild, crazy and fearful pup to an exhuberant teen to a dignified "rock solid" adult to a dependent senior to now a treasured memory. The memories are many and great. You were the most compliant dog I ever had. If I could make you understand what I wanted, you would do it with great enthusiasm. You never did anything "wrong" after the first few days in your new home. A home you brightened with your energy and warmed with your love. You were the perfect dog for me - low maintenance, wash and wear, no fuss, no muss, no bother, live and let live yet always there as a protector for your siblings. You never looked for trouble but you sure could handle it when it came to you or them. The perfect big brother. You were a great athlete, a star at agility, and a wizard at herding until your hips betrayed you in both activities. I can still see you in the dog park looking for all the world like a NFL wide receiver looking back over your shoulder for a 20-30 yard pass, adjust your body and snatch the tennis ball out of the air in full stride. Your relationship with the other dogs was interesting to watch. Birdie pretty much ignored you until she was near death, then she would seek comfort from you. She would cuddle up next to you. When she would fall asleep, you would lick a circle on the floor around her, then get back inside the circle yourself. I have no idea what you were doing, but know it was an act of compassion and love. When she was put to sleep and you, Gus, and I came back from the vets, I sat down and you immediately gave me one of Birdie's toys. For a week, every time I sat down you and Gus would bring me toys. Again, I do not know the purpose, but I think you were reminding me that I still had you two, and that life goes on. I'll remember that advice now. A few foster dogs came and went, better served for being exposed to you. Then, special Gus came and stayed. You accepted him immediately. You came to know his therapy work gave me great satisfaction, and Birdie fell in love with him as did everyone else. No problem for you. When Gus and I would get ready to go to our therapy work, you would go out to the back patio and lie down with your back to the house. It reminded me of Bogey's habit of putting his head behind the drapes when I went to go to work. I guess both of you thought if you didn't see me go, maybe I didn't leave. When Birdie passed, I thought you and Gus would fight for alpha status, but you decided to be co-captains. Gus is a very serious dog. Yet you and he would play beautifully and continuously together. He couldn't stand you playing with another dog. He would bark and pull you away. You always let him have his way. He was part of your family. Then the buoyant Jasper joined the pack. He was five months old and quickly learned to love and depend on you and Gus. I remember playing ball with you in the dog park, and as I was watching you return the ball, I saw Jasper being pinned to the ground by a much bigger dog. You spotted it the same time. Before I could get to Jasper, you had run at full speed into the other dog, knocking him off Jasper. He got up snarling and growling, and you knocked him down again. You never growled or barred your teeth, but the dog ran off. You calmly picked up the ball, and returned it to me. Jasper will be seven years old November 31st, and he never had a serious thought until very recently. He was clearly very concerned about your health. I woke up in the middle of the night on Tuesday, turned on the light to check on you, and saw Jasper sleeping on the floor beside your bed with one paw touching one of your paws. You never gave the slightest sign of jealosy. I would always pet you first , and you would wag your tail joyously. Then I would pet the others and look at you, and you would still be wagging your tail. Gus and Jasper will miss you as much as I will. I want to believe that you are now at the Rainbow Bridge, reunited with Birdie who has introduced you to Bogey, the love of her life. Look after them for me. I'll be along in due time. I am very grateful to have had you in my life. I'm equally grateful that I was allowed to be around to assist you in passing through your life. I hope I'll never forget you, Mulligan. Today's date, 11/11/11, is a rare event. You were a rare dog, capable of loving greatly and making everyone who loved you feel better about themselves. In the last few months, you have spent a lot of time in my face gazing into my eyes. What were you trying to tell me? That you wanted to check out? That you wanted to hang around? I finally rationalized that you and I had certain values and feelings that we shared and exchanged with each other, and you were trying to express them to me. I could not improve on your effort, so as I returned your gaze, looking into those now cloudy but still beautiful amber colored eyes, I would say, "Right back at Ya, Mully." When other people were around, for example in the park, and you would come up to me and put your head in my hand for no apparent reason, I would think that phrase, confident that you could "hear" it. So until we meet again, for your trust, honor, respect, admiration, appreciation, affection, pride, joy, and love, thank you and "Right back at Ya, my dearest Mulligan."