Date:    Wed, 19 Apr 1995 12:46:30 +0100
From:    Holly Kruse 
Subject: PERSONAL: My Tristan (very long)

I still can't believe Tristan's gone, but I thought it would
help if I wrote down some memories.  It's impossible to encom-
pass what Tristan means to me in words, but I will make a
feeble stab at it...

Tristan was truly a special being, an old soul, or, as some-
one once described him, a "light worker."  He had the most
amazing disposition.  There wasn't a mean bone in Tristan's
body.  He faced every situation with complete aplomb and
usually with great joy.  For every person he passed on the
sidewalk, he had a smile and a wag, and he would smile and
bark with joy at his favorite times of the day:  breakfast-
time, walk-time, dinner-time, bedtime.

My journey with Tristan began many, many years ago.  I
searched for him for over a year.  I had begun dog showing
with Kerry when I was 13, and I knew I wanted a really
nice dog with whom to continue.  I spent over a year
researching bloodlines, and when Tristan's litter was
whelped in Southern California, I knew it was perfect.
He was pick male in the litter, and when I went out
to get him when he was 3 months of age he was all feet
and ears!  He flew back to Iowa with me... I remember
when I picked him up at the baggage counter of the Cedar
Rapids Airport I was so impressed that he hadn't even
mussed the papers in his crate.

From his first day in the show ring, Tristan was a
first-class clown.  Starting with his first appearance,
in the 3-6 month puppy class at a match (he went on
to win Group 1), to his final appearance, in Veterans
Class at the 1993 Kentuckiana Irish Setter Club
specialty, Tristan knew that he had only one job in
the ring:  to meet and greet judges.  He would look
gorgeous stacked until the judge came up to him, and
then his tail would start wagging, his feet would start
moving, and it was all over.  I put his first points on
him, but a friend he didn't have quite so buffaloed
finished him for me.  After Tristan finished many
people urged me to special him, telling me that with
his attitude, difficult-to-fault conformation, and style,
he would shine as a special.  Unfortunately, I didn't have
the time to special him myself or the money to allow
someone else to do it.

Not that it matters, because as you all know, Tristan's
true calling was to be my dearest, closest friend.  If
anyone is my soul-mate, it is Tristan.  We weathered
many bad times and shared many milestones.  He was there
with me when I graduated from high school; when my mother
died of cancer and my father was stricken with lymphoma in
1983; when I moved away from home for the first time to
begin graduate school in 1986; when I was followed home
by a paroled rapist in 1988; when Kerry was put to sleep
at age 13 in 1989; when Mark and I broke up temporarily
in 1990; when my apartment burned down in 1991; when I
moved to Louisville in 1991; when I moved to Winchester,
VA in 1993; when I started and when I finally finished my
dissertation; and when my father died last June.

We both were traumatized in 1987 when my apartment was
burglerized while I was out on Easter Eve.  I'll never for-
get the feeling of opening my apartment door, calling
for Tristan, and getting no response.  That night spent
looking for him was one of the worst of my life.  I'll
also never forget the joy I felt the next day when some-
one 4 miles away called to let me know she found a
beautiful Irish Setter on her street, called the police,
and learned he was mine.  Tristan never liked to allow
me out of his sight after that.

Tristan was there for everything.  How could I have gotten
through my father's death last year and sorting through
everything in the house where Tristan and I both grew up
if I hadn't had Tristan by my side?  I can't even begin
to fathom what it will be like embarking on a new phase
of my life -- moving to Philadelphia, buying a house,
starting a new job -- without Tristan.  With my father
and now Tristan gone, I have never felt more alone.

Tristan certainly had battles to fight along the way.
When he was a little over a year old he picked up what
was probably a strain of parvo at the Minnesota Irish
Setter specialty and nearly died; being the fighter that
he was though, it should have been no surprise that he
pulled through.  For most of his life his health was amazing-
ly good; when he was 8 or so he began to be bothered a bit
by arthritis during the winter.  His major battles were
fought in the past few years.  In 1991 a growth the size
of a softball was removed from his abdomen and diagnosed
as hemangiosarcoma, which is always terminal.  Apparently
Tristan was not aware of the prognosis, because he decided
to live for almost 4 more years. In the past 2 years he had
been troubled a bit by spondylosis, and more recently by
degenerative myelopathy, bouts of bacterial pneumonia, and
megesophagus.  These slowed him down a little, but not much.
Just this past Sunday he was frolicking (as best he could)
in the living room with his favorite pressed rawhide bone.

I remember reading somewhere that the wonderful thing about
old age is that you're really all ages at once, and this
was no truer of anyone than Tristan.  He was always the
floppy-eared, big-footed puppy, even when his muzzle
was all white and his hindquarters could no longer support
him.  He was my heart and my soul, and he always will
be.  A kinder, sweeter, braver, happier dog has never
lived.  I wish I could have shared his last moments and
given him a proper farewell.  In my sadness, though, I am
awed to hear from all of you and learn how many lives he
touched.  I know Tristan is honored.


Holly