This page has featured many Salty Dogs, mostly present, some past. This week is all about one who has just passed, my beloved dog Bertram, "The Adventure Dog."

We had family dogs throughout my childhood but I'd never had one all my own.

I began looking 14 and a half years ago. I made a few visits to the ASPCA and began scanning the classifieds. Unsure exactly what I was looking for I recognized my abiding fondness for mixed breeds, especially with some Labrador retriever in the genes. I'm also a firm believer that you don't choose a dog, it chooses you. One Friday I saw an ad for a "Lab/Mix." I called the number and a woman answered. Her daughter bred Labs and it seems some sort of "accident" occurred with a Shar Pei. They had sold all the pups except for the last male in the litter. When I asked what his personality was like she hesitated a moment, then said, "He's a bulldozer."

The next morning I drove up I-26 to Ridgeville and found my way to the address in a somewhat rural area. The house was at the end of a long driveway. I parked my Jeep and started walking over to where a woman and a few guys were working in a shallow ditch installing some sort of water or septic line in the back yard. It was a "farm-ish" type of property and behind the group of people were a bunch of farm fowls, I can't recall what kind. All of a sudden there was a big commotion amongst the birds and in their midst I spied a small black animal of some sort that was chasing them in my direction. The birds scattered off to both sides and the little black figure stopped, facing right towards me. I dropped to one knee, motioned with my hand and commanded "Come!" The little guy started running to me but apparently didn't notice the ditch because he dropped right into it, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

In a few seconds he crawled out the other side and ran right into my lap with a dirt-covered nose. I looked down and asked, "Are you the one?" He replied with a couple of licks to my cheek.

The woman walked over, stood with hands on hips and said with a certain country frankness, "Well, it looks like we have us a match." Ten minutes and $40 later I was driving back towards the interstate with my new eight-week-old puppy.

As we rode I kept trying to get him to stay in the passenger seat but I think due to it being his first time in a vehicle (and the fact that my Jeep was a soft top which is very noisy at highway speeds) he kept climbing across the console to lay in my lap.

I finally gave in, and with him lying there I started thinking of a name.

It had to be something nautical, so I started thinking of names of fish, nautical places and boats, especially sportfishing yachts. I pondered all the major manufacturers and when I got to Bertram it seemed like the perfect name. Bertram, bulldozer... yea, just right.

Back then I had an "office" at the end of a long dock on Shem Creek, right next door to the old Geechie Shrimp dock. That afternoon I took Bert down there and loaded him into my skiff. As we motored up the creek I boastfully decided to place him up on the bow platform to show off my new pup to the world.

Everybody waved and pointed at such a cute visage, but Bert was not happy. He appeared scared, in fact. When he started whimpering I would have none of it. As we approached the Shem Creek bridge, a pelican flew under the bridge directly towards us. The bird passed within just a few feet and it caught Bert's eye as he followed its path for a few seconds, then looked at me as if to say "Oh, now I get it!" He sat his butt down and started enjoying the ride. Such was the beginning of a remarkable life, for us both.

It would take more space than this entire newspaper to share the many adventures and mishaps Bert and I experienced during his life.

He's been 60 miles offshore while I fished for tuna. Thanks to my friend Raul (of Raul's Seafood, may he continue to rest in peace), Bert developed a decided affinity for raw shrimp, shell and all, and when I'd take him over to Magwood's Shrimp he'd trot right inside and bark at the folks at the heading table until he had his fill.

He never nipped at a soul, and in fact I can't recall him ever showing aggression towards anyone. And I'm sure that some of you can recall seeing us cruising Shem Creek as Bert barked incessantly and scampered from one end of the skiff to the other every time he spotted a porpoise fin.

Bert also loved little kids. I remember one time we were out on Sullivan's Island. He was off his leash, diving out into the surf after the stick I threw when he saw a small boy running up the beach. He took off after the boy whose parents, a short distance away, thought my dog was attacking their child.

They yelled to the boy to run and he did, screaming in fear, and then I started yelling at them that Bert was friendly and yelling at Bert to come. The young lad tripped, fell down and Bert was on him in an instant, trying to smother him with kisses. The parents obviously thought Bert was trying to chew off his face. All the concerned adults arrived at the scene simultaneously to find that the lad was perfectly fine while Bert had that "What the heck?" look on his face. He didn't understand why the parents and I were yelling at him. I'll always feel bad for those folks... who unfortunately knew nothing of dogs or what a wonderful opportunity their boy was missing. I figured they probably had pet gerbils or hamsters in their city apartment.

Monday, Aug. 2, Bert's life came to an end. The previous Wednesday he'd developed a deep cough, so I took him to the vet.

Plus, it was about time for his annual check-up. I figured a shot and some pills and we'd be done but after 90 minutes and a series of tests the vet determined that Bert was suffering from congenital heart disease and there was severe fluid build-up in his chest. He told me, "L.J., something is killing Bertram. He may not make it through the night. You may have to make a decision very soon."

I walked out of the office in a swirling daze, shocked and stunned, and with a bunch of pills that the vet hoped would ease the swelling. That night was the second longest of my life.

Bert made it through the night and seemed to improve a bit, but by the weekend he became very listless and would hardly eat a thing. Saturday night when I took him outside, he went and laid down under a table, something he'd never done before. I knew he was telling me something. By Sunday night I knew I had to do the most important and difficult thing any dog owner can ever do. I didn't sleep that night and it was THE longest of my entire life. The next morning I called the vet and told him, "Mike, I think it's time" to which he replied, "I don't disagree with you." We arranged to meet that afternoon at 5:30 down at the boatyard at the mouth of Shem Creek I've previously written about. It was Bert's favorite place and I took him there every afternoon for his playtime where he would swim, chase the feral cats and just generally spread goodwill around the docks. It was there that he took his last breath, staring out at the harbor waters in which he so loved to swim.

I must make special mention of "Doctor Mike" as I call him, Dr. Michael Forcier of the Animal Medical Center of Mount Pleasant, as well as Mike's vet technician Dawn Marcoux. Mike is the kind of vet who gets down on the floor with a dog during examinations and he has a way about him that is both authoritarian and comforting.

I can not more deeply convey the compassion, patience and professionalism Mike and Dawn displayed at the boatyard that awful afternoon. They made it much easier than I thought it would be, and I'll remain eternally grateful to them both for their skilled hands and huge hearts.

After I called Mike that morning I dialed my friend, Captain Bobby Santos. Bobby used to own the fishing vessel Bette Boop tied up just down the dock from my creekside-office, so he'd known Bert since his puppyhood.

In fact, Bobby's son John (captain of the Boop) had a female black Lab named Boo who had been one of Bert's favorite playmates. Boo passed away last year and was laid to rest in the yard at Bobby's house right on the edge of Molasses Creek off the Wando River, up in the Hobcaw neighborhood. Truth be told, several of Bobby's dogs are interred there.

I appraised Bobby of what was going to occur that afternoon and asked if I could bury Bert there, at the water's edge, near his friend Boo. Bobby said he'd be all too happy to have Bert there. So around noontime I went to his house and, with not just a little sweat, dug a fitting hole. Later that day, by myself at the edge of the marsh on a beautiful summer evening, I said my final goodbyes and marked the spot with a piece of slate in the shape of a shark fin.

Just after sunset that night, without even consciously deciding to do so, I drove back down to the boatyard where I sat on an overturned hull, staring out across the harbor, occasionally turning around to look at the spot where my dog had been just a few hours ago.

It wasn't dark enough yet to see the stars but Venus was shining brightly up in the western sky.

I took a bit of license in deciding it was the first "star" of the night and made my wish. I wished for some sort of assurance that I did all the right things; that I'd eventually get over the horrible waves of emotion that kept sweeping over me and find peace; and that my best friend and faithful companion would give me some sort of sign that both he and I would be OK.

About two minutes later, one of the brightest shooting stars I've ever seen streaked across the sky, from south to north, just below Venus, on a trajectory that pointed directly up the Wando River, towards Molasses Creek.

???

I've written this just to say: Your dog will misbehave sometimes; it may soil a favorite carpet; chew something you value; escape and disappear for a time giving you great angst. But they love you even more than you love them. So cherish and value each and every moment you have with your dog and if the time ever comes, suck it up and do what you must to honor and relieve them of the suffering they might be enduring.