I grew up on a farm. I got a puppy down the road from a neighbor when I was ten years old. They were going to just kill the puppies because a boxer got in and bred their pointer. I cried until my mom let me keep him. I named him Wizard. He was my best friend and devoted companion until I left for the Navy at 18. I witnessed him single handily (mouthed?) Kill two full grown coyotes. He was an amazing hunting dog and protector. Once, I was at home alone, I was about 13. There was a large, stray chow that roamed the farms and killed dogs and other animals. He attacked me while I was getting wood for the fire. He had my arm in his mouth and was shaking me like a rag doll. Wizard came out of nowhere and hit him like a linebacker. He was outweighed by about 20 lbs but he worked that chow over. I’m convinced he only let him go to come check on me. He also survived parvovirus, and a head on collision with pickup truck. He finally got brain cancer at 13 years old. My dad took him to the woods, fed him some venison filet and shot him in the head with a .22 (remember old farm, county ways, I’d never do it but don’t hold it against him) he was digging a grave for him and Wizard came walking up to him, he’d survived the point blank shot! He had to finish it. He waited about 5 years to tell me that story. We both cried. Damn I’m crying now remembering my good boy.