Our weimaraner died sometime Wed evening. I discovered him when I called the dogs in for breakfast and no one came to the door. I looked out the back porch where they sleep when it's hot, and Mauly (the dobbie) was laying with her head on Jake (Weim) and looking at me with sad eyes. Jake looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn't breathing and he had already stiffened up. I inspected to contusions, swelling, indications of scorpion or rattlesnake bite, but found nothing. He wasn't a spring chicken, but he wasn't old, either - about 8 years old. DS and I wrapped Jake in a sheet and used the tractor to bring him out back behind the apple tree, where he loved chase rabbits and dig up their warrens. DH came home from CA and hand dug the grave, even though the tractor was right there. He then proceded to do every minor chore that there was hanging out on the To Do list. Closest thing to crying I've ever seen him do... This is the 2nd dog we've had to burry in our nearly 20 years of marriage, and I suspect it won't be the last, but it is still so sad. And for some reason, I always get to be the first to know. Buddy died in my arms years ago, and now I get to wake up to find Jake. Mauly spent the other day moping and hanging out around the grave and not eating (this is a girl who, like me, never misses a meal). She's getting back to normal now. DS is loving on Mauly a little extra - she is his dog, and Jake was DH's dog, because, as DS says, "A man's gotta have a dog." So we're looking into a Weim rescue place to find Mauly a new companion and ease our hearts a little.