¡¡¡¡One night after dinner I went to the basement, where she slept beside the furnace. At the bottom of the stairs, I met Dad. His face was drained of color, and he carried a strange, strong smelling rag in his hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but Queenie¡¯s dead,¡± he told me ently. I broke into tears and threw myself into his arms. I don¡¯t know how long I sobbed, but after a while I became aware that he was crying too. I remember how pleased I was to learn he felt the same way. Between eye- wiping and nose-blowing, I told him£¬¡°I don¡¯t ever want another dog. It hurts too much when they die.¡±

¡¡¡¡¡°You¡¯re right about the hurt, son,¡± he answered,¡°but that¡¯s the price of love.¡±

¡¡¡¡The next day, after conferring with the vet and the family, I reluctantly agreed to have Scampy¡¯s leg amputated. ¡°If a child¡¯s faith can make him well,¡± I remarked to Shirley,¡°then he¡¯ll recover four times over.¡± And he did. Miraculously.If I needed any proof that he was his old self, it came a short time after his operation. The remarkable thing was the way he compensated for his missing appendage. He invented a new stroke for his lone rear leg, moving it piston like from side to side to achieve both power and stability.His enthusiasm and energy suffered no loss. ¡°The best thing about Scampy,¡± a neighbor said, ¡°Is that he doesn¡¯t know he¡¯s got a handicap. Either that or he ignores it, which is the best way for all of us to deal with such things.¡±

¡¡¡¡For better than five years, Scampy gave us an object lesson in courage, demonstrating what it means to do your best with what you¡¯ ve got. On our daily runs, I often carried on conversations with him as if he understood every word. ¡°I almost shipped you out as a pup.¡± I¡¯d recount to him, ¡°but the kids wouldn¡¯t let me. They knew how wonderful you were.¡± It was obvious from the way he studied my face and wagged his tail that he liked to hear how special he was.

¡¡¡¡He probably would have continued to strut his stuff for a lot longer had he been less combative.One warm August night he didn¡¯t return at his normal time, and the next morning he showed up, gasping for air and bloody around the neck. He obviously had been in a fight, and I suspected a badly damaged windpipe or lung.¡°Scampy, when will you learn?¡± I asked as I petted his head. He looked up at me with those trusting eyes and licked my hand, but he was too weak to wag his tail. Christopher and Daniel helped me sponge him down and get him to the vet, but my diagnosis proved too accurate. By midday Scampy was gone.

¡¡¡¡That evening Christopher and I drove to the vet¡¯s office, gathered up Scampy and headed home. Scampy¡¯s mother, Heidi, had died at fifteen, just a few months before; now we would bury him next to her in the woods by the garden.

¡¡¡¡As we drove, I tried to engage Christopher in conversation, but he was silent, apparently sorting through his feelings. ¡°I¡¯ ve seen lots of dogs, Christopher,¡± I said, ¡°but Scampy was something special.¡± ¡°Yep,¡± he answered, staring into the darkness.

¡¡¡¡¡°He was certainly one of the smartest.¡± Christopher didn¡¯t answer. From flashes of light that passed through the car I could see him dabbing his eyes. Finally he looked at me and spoke. ¡°There¡¯s only one thing I¡¯m sure of, Dad,¡± he choked out through tears. ¡°I don¡¯t want another dog. It feels so bad to lose them.¡±

¡¡¡¡¡°Yes, I know,¡± I said. Then drawing on a voice and words that were not my own, I added, ¡°But that¡¯s the price of love.¡± Now his sobs were audible, and I was having trouble seeing the road myself. I pulled off at a service station and stopped the car. There, I put my arms around him and with my tears let him know-- just as my father had shown me--ª² that his loss was my loss too.