Saying goodbye to a pet is difficult. Saying thank you is what I want to figure out how to do.

      I just learned this afternoon that our 15 year old Brittany, Chaser, has cancer. Last month, the same X-rays showed nothing. Today, her lungs are filled with cancer. There are no treatment options. Our veterinarian says she probably has only a few days, probably not that long. Likely, by the time you read this – she’ll be gone

      When Chaser entered our lives, she was around nine months old, and afraid of everything from canine and human strangers to busses and trucks, even fire hydrants. Whenever we left the house, Chaser would piddle. In fact, whenever I closed the bathroom door to do my business, Chaser would do her business on the other side of the door.

      Advice helped, and somehow, we worked through it. 

      I was writing newspaper and magazine stories about pets back then, but I was also covering the entertainment beat.

      A few years later, my wife and I took an amazing trip to the Galapagos Islands. When we returned, Kim Okabe of Tribune Media Services (they now syndicate this column) was voice mail number 31. Her message was an offer to interview for the job of pet columnist.

      I was soon offered the gig, but I didn’t accept immediately. I asked for a few days to think it over. I instinctively knew that if I accepted, I’d only write about pets for the rest of my career. Just as actors don’t want to be typecast, many journalists don’t either.

      On the next day, I was riding our antiquated elevator in our Century plus old building on Chicago’s near north side. “Ka-boom,” the elevator, which I believe is operated by a pair of chipmunks, stopped. The passengers began to pace and whine. It immediately occurred to me, lucky thing I’m going up and not down. You see, the passengers were three dogs. Our puppy Lucy; our neighbor’s dog, Boots; and Chaser. Lucy was worried, so was Boots. But Chaser was calm as can be.

      While waiting to be rescued from an elevator, there isn’t much you can do. So I sat down and I thought.

      I thought about how far our once terrified and anxious dog had come. By now, she had earned her Canine Good Citizen Test, was visiting my grandmother at an assisted living facility, and cavorted happily with fellow canines on the dog beach – where she relished finding dead fish to roll in.

      Chaser had a Pygmalion transformation into my fair canine. She was now every bit a dog.

      As I thought about all this in the stopped elevator, Lucy and Boots began to quiet down. Chaser, who was sitting only about six or seven inches away, got up and placed herself nearly on me. She continued staring this entire time; our noses were nearly close enough to touch. This was her thing, starring at me.

 The next moment seemed to last for several minutes. But I'm sure that it was only a moment. It was a moment that I'll never forget. It was the kind of moment that I always thought was reserved for Timmy and Lassie.

      Chaser and I connected in a way that is difficult to articulate.  But I know that I felt her soul in a way that I never had before. I can't translate what Chaser told me. It was more like a feeling, a warm feeling of unadulterated love. I was moved to tears, though I didn't quite know why. Chaser ended this moment as she licked a tear, and then she smiled, opening her mouth and pulling back her lips as many dogs are able to do. She followed with a restrained "Woof."  I can't claim to translate the woof. Then, Chaser did what Chaser always did quiet well. She nodded off.

      I knew then, I wanted to help others to enjoy what I had with Chaser. ’ The next morning, I phoned TMS and said “Yes!”

      Now, nearly 12 years later, in addition to this column, I host two syndicated radio shows, and another radio program on legendary WGN Radio in Chicago. I write for all sorts of publications, authored a few books and have made many national TV appearances. To my amazement, I even present regularly at veterinary and humane conferences. I’ve tried to make a difference, using my venues as an advocacy pulpit – and I’ve won too many awards to even begin to mention.

      What matters most are the individual pets who have in some way benefited from my advice. I’m told over and over again that I’ve saved lives. Since pets are today considered members of the family – I’ve apparently made a difference to many families.

      I couldn’t have done any of this – and wouldn’t have done any of this if Chaser didn’t come along. How can I possibly tell her this?

      I know Chaser’s had an amazing life; going through it all with me. She’s in the major league baseball record books; you see I’m the only person in baseball history to throw out a ceremonial first pitch with two dogs at my side (Lucy was there too). Chaser’s been a passenger many times on the Canine Cruise (an idea I thought of on my WGN radio show, an architecture cruise for dogs, offered by Chicago Skyline Cruiseline). Chaser was twice a Grand Marshall at the La Grange Pet Parade, the largest and oldest pet parade in the nation. Chaser’s been at my side, helping to raise money at dozens of benefits for animal shelters, including overcoming total humiliation dressing in various outfits – including as a veterinarian - to raise dollars at Halloween fundraisers.

      Because we caught it early with a second annual wellness exam, Chaser beat mast cell cancer a few years ago. Chaser was a sort of poster dog for twice-a-year vet visits, which do save lives. So, again, even through her cancer, she made a difference. This cancer is likely unrelated to that mast cell cancer.

      I know 15 years is a long time. Of course, for my wife and I, it’s not nearly enough time. Now, I have only days, maybe even only hours, to figure out how to say ‘thank you.’ 

       We will see to it that she doesn’t suffer. That’s good. Saying goodbye will be very hard. But what kills me is that I may never be able to communicate what she’s meant to me, and to so many others.

       Just like when I was trapped in the elevator, I looked to her for direction. She gave it to me then, maybe she will again.