Pace was a dear companion, friend, and joy in my life. His name is Italian for “peace” and that is what he gave to me when he was near.
                                                                  Pace was special in so many ways. As a companion he traveled from the Pacific to the Atlantic and back. He loved road trips. And though we humans visited these places for our own reasons, Pace found joy in the ground squirrels, prairie dogs, and wild burros he encountered. Pace once fearlessly (and foolishly) barked at a bison that turned to reply in his own manner as we hurriedly left.
                                                                      A road trip could be just a quick errand. Lowe’s Hardware was a favorite destination for Pace. He would walk in, give one quick bark to announce himself, and walk down the main aisle like he was on a mission. He would stop just long enough to get a treat from the crew. They all knew his name and he reacted with such pride.
Pace was a marvel.
How did he understand so many words?
 

Pace’s treasures were his stuffed animals. He would bring one in the car when we went out. He carried them into my parents’ home and into the local veterinary clinic. He would take one to the front yard, standing at the property line to show off his prize to the dog across the street. He’d leave one sitting on the front windowsill to show everyone. These were his cherished possessions.
Every night, before he settled for the evening, he would initiate “Hide-and-Seek”. He hid behind a closet door as I called his name. I’d peek through the crack and see him sitting perfectly still or taking the edge of a hanging robe into his mouth and gently wrapping it around himself? How did he know to do this?

Pace also knew his boundaries. As neighbors watched in amazement, Pace chased cats, squirrels, robins, and bunnies, stopping just at the property line. These startled critters would look back in disbelief that the pursuit had so suddenly ended. Yet, though Pace was not allowed upstairs in my parents’ home, he left a subtle message of his territorial rights a few weeks before his death. For in the first room, at the top of the stairs, where my dad spends his days painting, Pace left a prized toy, a gift, where it would immediately be noticed. My father left it there to see if Pace would reclaim it. That toy remains there, where it was left, as a silent reminder of this wonderful creature.