Often, it is said that boys and dogs, or families and dogs, have a special relationship. They do. Men and dogs do, too. It may be Jack London’s “Call of the Wild” at our feet, or something about campfires, dogs, and people inthe early days, but a guy loves his dog. Dogs are so loyal and good.

Some will recall my rescue, named D’Artagnan (“Dartanion”), the “fourth musketeer,” was one of those lucky dogs goodhearted Americans pulled from Sochi, Russia, when the Russians were going around killing their street dogs…to “clean up” for the famous 2014 Olympics.

That he ended up with me was pure chance. A nearby shelter got a few, and “lucky me” was able to adopt my good-natured, flop-eared, always hungry, always grateful Russian pup. He sure loves his freedom.

That was a decade ago. He was about four, yet had no idea how to play. Everything was serious, no time for fun. He was either battling what street dogs must do to survive, or it did not matter.

Over time, we changed that. He learned to play. The concept was like a light going off. He came to love tussling, never hurt me once we got the rules straight, never bit hard. He would, as typical dogs do, bring me the toy, drop it in front of me, then look up, and let those big, asking eyes talk.

Of course, I have never said no, even if busy, because to play for him was an epiphany, something denied him in his dog-youth. To give him the option was a detour into my youth.

Affection and food are of a type for my musketeer, both craved. He had neither when young. He could count on nothing back then, obviously. He was on his own, a flop ear itself, telling, broken cartilage. So, when food, treats, and eats appear, he is fast on his feet, quick to bowl or hand.

He is also that magic combination, tough as nails on unwelcome intruders, vigilant when someone makes him uneasy, protector yet gentle as a kitten among those he trusts.

Charles Schultz, creator of “Snoopy,” knew this feeling, I am sure. In a thousand ways, he gave us “Happiness is a warm puppy.” Funny, Erma Bombeck did the same, observing that “Every dog should have a boy.” So true, maybe men too.

Women know the magic just as well. It is magic, too – hard to put into words – a loyal, watchful, loving, ever-present dog. Edith Wharton summed it up: “My little dog–heartbeat at my feet.”

That is my own musketeer, D’Artagnan, whom I simply call “Tanny.” He likes that better, humbler fare. I think he appreciates being a musketeer, noble and all that, but with no opposable thumbs, teeth are his weapon of choice. Sword fighting is out, but “Tanny” seems ok with that.

Maybe another aspect of Tanny’s role in my life – dogs in our lives – is about expectations, who he hopes and believes I am, as loyal as he is to me. C.J. Frick wrote a funny book, “Be The Person Your Dog Thinks You Are.” Maybe half of who we are is because they believe we are.

Anyway, from leaping through snowbanks and climbing mountains to watching him chase chipmunks, digging feverishly for things his nose cued up, even a skunk encounter, my life with Tanny has been everything it should be, man and dog after the world together, a team.

That is why, when he got cancer last fall, I gave it my all. We rallied for special treatments, hoping to forestall the thing, answering critics with this: He was given to my care by a God who entrusted me to rally, and besides, if roles were reversed, I would want him to do that for me.

He has battled it quite well, continues now, although his eating slows, days are more resting than playing, and we both have longed for one goal: Just get to the start of summer, when the warm winds blow again, when flowers and chipmunks are back, sun is high in the sky, and you can wander the scented woods as if in youth, dreaming, lie by the pond and ponder birds, share what we share, which requires no words. And we have made it.

I know his days are numbered, and always were. I know the sun does not always shine, heartbeat at my feet will not always be, but while he is, we share looks and play, and treasure every day.

Dogs teach us so much, don’t they? One wonders if they know. He has no fear, my little musketeer, brave and loyal as the day is long, and strong. We conquer days together. If only the world were filled with the stuff of which Tanny is made. Dogs are so loyal and good.

Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, attorney, and naval intelligence officer (USNR). He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (2018), and is National Spokesman for AMAC. Robert Charles has also just released an uplifting new book, “Cherish America: Stories of Courage, Character, and Kindness” (Tower Publishing, 2024).