She was just a dog.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Our 18-year-old “mutt,” Channell, took her final breath today under the gentle hands of our veterinarian. Letting her go was much harder than I ever thought it would be, especially as I’m not a pet person.

Then Channell came into our lives.

She wasn’t our dog at first.

A tiny puppy was thrown into a ditch on a rainy night, and our daughter-in-law rescued her. She kept Channell until her husband needed to go to school out of state. I volunteered to take care of their pet for the eight months they’d be gone.

At first, my husband wasn’t sure about this arrangement. But this brown-eyed mixed-breed puppy was friendly and never jumped on the furniture or chewed up shoes.

It wasn’t long before Channell and my husband were best buddies. If he went outside without her, she’d stand at the door and cry until he came back in.

When the eight months were up, the dog was no longer our daughter-in-law’s – she was ours.

Even though Channell was basically around two older adults for most of her life, she was great when the grandkids came over. She didn’t mind if they pulled on her ears or tail, and she never growled or nipped at them.

She was one smart and clever dog. She figured out the best way to corner squirrels – her deadly enemies – and would patiently wait for them to miss seeing her and jump to the ground.

That was their last mistake.

Channell particularly enjoyed teasing our neighbor’s two terriers. Whenever they were in their back yard, Channell would run along the fence until they were chasing her. Then she’d stand back and watch them bark themselves hoarse.

I could practically see the smile on her face.

Channell was an expert escape artist. She jumped the fence in the back yard a few times, kind neighbors keeping her until we could come get her. Once I came home and she was sitting in the driveway, having scaled the fence again.

After that incident, my husband built a dog run underneath the back-yard shade trees for her. A couple of years ago, we admitted her fence jumping days were a memory, so she had the run of the back yard.

Channell was a top-notch “snake dog.” One afternoon, I heard her barking furiously in the back yard and went to see what was wrong. She’d spotted a coiled-up snake in the grass.

When she was sure I knew of the danger, she ran back to the door where two of our grandchildren were standing, and she stayed in front of them until the snake was gone.

Channell was a fast runner. Whenever we took her out to the country, she would run at full speed for hours, only stopping when she was exhausted. Even in her older years, she could outrun rabbits and left a couple of them on the back porch as prizes for us.

The only thing Channell was afraid of was loud noises, particularly booming fireworks and thunder. Every Fourth of July and during bad thunderstorms, we had to keep her in the innermost room of our house until the commotion ended.

She lost her hearing a couple of years ago, something we realized when a loud thunderstorm passed over the house, and she didn’t seem to notice.

She loved to swim in the pool, and when her arthritis and age made it hard for her to get in and out, she stopped. Not even tossing her favorite tennis balls into the pool could coax her into the water.

Over the past few months, we knew she was failing. We could no longer wait for nature to take its course – the strain was too much on her. So we made the painful decision to end her suffering.

In the beginning, she was just a dog.

In the end, she was our companion, our fierce protector, our silent sounding board and, the simplest title that sums up so much more than I can describe, our dog.

Rest in peace, girl. You’ve earned it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.