A glassy eyed, stunned human stood glazed, and the words that came from him rumbled ominously like thunder from silent lips.  "Leave!  There's been an accident!" A rising fear choked me.  Was he cut?  Had he run over something?  The eternal time lapse ended with the portentous utterance, "I killed Misty."  A jumble of screaming and tears began that was to last and last.  Misty had been our six year old female yellow Labrador.  Somewhere in the fog, I learned that she had come charging from nowhere just as the falling tree came down. 

    My sweet husband had been seriously torn up pulling the tree off of her,  
and this gentle creature, who had never bitten anyone, had severely bitten  
him, his hand scarred forever in her death grip.  She held on tight during the hair raising ride to an absent veterinarian.  A heavy silence cloaked our world.  She had died in his lap. 

    Victor needed emergency aid, and all we could do was cry and vomit.  For the next three days neighbors and friends took over our household.  The oppressive weight of death forced us to retreat to our bed.  We both were held by an uncontrollable vice grip.  Time was as heavy as death as we tried to burn the memory of her every detail into limp brains.  During pre dawn, sleepless hours, I tore endlessly through photo albums, gathering every treasured photo, cursing the lack of numbers. 

    Six months earlier we had planned and purchased tickets to the Ashland Shakespearean Festival in Oregon.  Our classic, 1963 VW camper silently took us north, my beloved fourteen-year-old German Shepherd an unlikely guest.  The realization that duplicating Misty would be impossible and unfair gradually gave way to thoughts of a new puppy.  The dog pounds and newspaper ads along the way brought more grief as we hoped to see Misty somewhere.  The futility of it all made me want to stop searching, but Victor seemed desperate to fill the void.  We stopped at Trieven's Retrievers in Medford and gazed at 100 black field Labs, but silence was our only reaction as Misty's face seemed yet further away. 

    The well of tears left us both numb, and they seemed to well up and pour  
out in some strange pattern of time.  We wandered into an Oregon pet store hoping to find a bulletin board or information about a backyard breeder, but I bought a book on Labrador Retrievers instead.  The words tumbled out one after another.  "There she is."  We knew her face existed in New Jersey.   
The tears again began to stream down drawn cheeks.  Newspapers from every town we passed piled high in the back of the bus as we sadly turned for home.  Near the California border we drank coffee and devoured the last throw-aways and newspapers as we prepared to head home empty handed.  A slip of paper caught our eyes as we were leaving the restaurant. 

    "Yellow Labs, five weeks old.  Ready September 5.  Ch. lines.  Grants  Pass." 

    Four hours out of our way, but the owners sounded too good over the phone to pass up.  Ten new yellow faces looked up beseechingly and cracked the horror that had been living with us.  We could return in two weeks and have  
the pick of the litter.  The decision was made on the spot.  Another 500 mile trip. 

    During the weeks that followed, we studied Labs, doubtful of our decision  
to start again.  By chance, I went to a dog show in Chico.  The marble eyes of Misty seemed to peer from some familiar wrinkled brows.  I knew nothing of breeders or shows or pedigrees; I only knew that I loved those beautiful faces.  I bought the program, my excitement and curiosity piqued.  I read.  I subscribed.  I learned.  Friends thought we had both gone crazy. 

    The clink of Misty's tags as she came racing through the woods and the view of her ears flapping joyously in the lake still haunt our lives.  Her pet nicknames like "Eraser nose," "Rocket," and "You fatty" still tighten the spirit but Misty has left us with a lifelong interest in the Labrador Retriever breed, for which we will be eternally grateful.  Nothing can bring her back,  
but the sweetness of our new Katie is gradually filling the void of our loss.  Only a Labrador Retriever lover can truly understand what has happened to us. 

    Footnote:  It has been 14 years since I wrote this story.  Our obsession with Labradors has changed our whole lives.  My husband has shown our bitch Phoebe to a show championship and completed CD's and WC's.  We have bred twelve litters and pointed dogs from our own breeding.  We have a new van, a new trailer, a ton of gear, and we have been rewarded with wonderful friends, both two legged and four.  We owe all this to our beloved Misty.