It was about 9 years ago, give or take 7 weeks here or there, when my beautiful wife, Leigh Ann, told me that we had purchased a new, little, baby puppy and we needed to go pick him up. For a family that is used to having several dogs wrapped around our legs and us around their respective paws, we were down to just one Golden Retriever. Her name was Belle Belle. And, if there ever was a dog who needed another dog around her, it was she. In today’s speak, she was a Diva.

So, on one Spring Saturday morn, LA and I embarked on a journey of find and seek. Our new, little puppy was waiting for our pickup. Our little puppy was ready for a new home. Our little puppy was soon to be ours.

Little did I know, at the time, that our “new, little puppy” was somewhere in Indiana — about 31/2 hours from Louisville. Little did I know, too, that GPS can only take you so far. Little did I know that at the end of our route, we were on a gravel road and staring at two of the world’s largest corn fields, separated by only two worn tire tracks through the middle of them. We had gone from interstate to 4-lane blacktop; to 2-lanes of partial blacktop; to a single lane of gravel. And, now we were looking at off-roading on a grass path up a knoll of green.

As we stared at the hill, with no home in sight, Leigh Ann looked at me and said, “What do we do now.”

I remember saying, “Well, we’ve driven 31/2 hours, I am going back this path.”

Leigh Ann looked at me and said, squarely, “Do you think it is safe?”

I remember saying, like it was yesterday, “Well, did they ask you to bring cash?”

When she shook her head to affirm my suspicion, I must admit I had a question or two of my own. But I turned our SUV; clicked on 4-Wheel Drive; and set sail through the middle of the corn fields.

It didn’t take long before we reached the hill crest and noticed a house in the middle of nowhere and the middle of paradise, all rolled into one. I didn’t see a kennel. I didn’t hear a dog bark. All I saw was a house and a truck.

So, I pulled to a stop. Got out, and headed to the front door. A little weary, I must admit. Until I heard a roar of puppy barks emanating from the back of the house. I looked at LA, the strong one, crouched down in the front seat and I gave her the “thumbs up.”

I walked to the front door and met two of the best people in the history of Indiana and the USA. Judy Schneider came to the door and saw me standing there. She opened it with one hand, and had a sturdy, reddish-yellow puppy in the other. She didn’t ask my name. She had no suspicions. She was just down-home American with a smile as her welcome mat. (In other words? A better person than us.)

It was the first meet and greet with our newest family addition: Crosley.

It was the first time that I held and drew in a full-nose full of “puppy smell.”

It was the first time I saw LA run faster than any puppy we have ever had, as she made it from the car to the front door in speed-record time.

It was, after all, love at first sight.

It was puppy love.

And, as things would turn out, this little bundle of love would become one of the greatest loves of our lives.

Over the 31/2 hours ride back to Louisville, Crosley — a pudgy sort who looked more like a fledging linebacker than a chess player — crawled all over LA.

He nested on the back of her neck and in her hair. For a second.

He crawled down her neck and plopped into her lap. For a second.

He tugged at her shirt with needle-like teeth. For a second.

He sniffed at her pants with a baby nose full of curiosity and scent. For a second.

He roamed over the armrest and tried to fiddle with me, nibbling on my fingers as if they were to be dog treats. For a second.

Over the next 210 minutes — or, in this case, 12,600 seconds — we got to meet the newest addition to our family circle. And, we never gave a second thought as to whether we had made the right decision. Not even for a second.

This golden patch of puppy came by the name of Crosley from LA. My beautiful bride knew that as a kid I grew up going to this home-spun ballpark in Cincinnati to watch my favorite sport and my favorite team play in our version of Wrigley Field or Fenway Park. It was a very special place for me. A haven. A heaven. The green, green grass of home. And, the Reds fielded a world-class team back in those days, led by the likes of a great Frank Robinson; a wonderfully-talented Vada Pinson and Tommy Harper; by a shortstop named Leo “Chico” Cardenas; and by a wealth of young talent that included the hometown hero — Pete Rose.

Crosley Field was my most favorite place. And, from the very beginning, I think LA knew in her heart that our new, little puppy was meant to be my most favorite, too. Because that is exactly what happened. Sewn together by heart strings. Woven together by love of both water and sun, but mostly hugs.

Don’t get me wrong. Our relationship wasn’t always filled with dog treats and rainbows. From the beginning, Crosley was a challenging sort.

He could chew a full-sized, living room rug into little bits of thread in the time it would take to thread a needle. And, he did.

He could reduce a wooden chair, made of sturdy oak, into a toothpick in the blink of a minnows eye. And, he did.

He could completely ignore a laundry basket full of puppy toys, and find a tupperware lid that he thought should be part of the old Polytrack surface at Keeneland; or a stack of CDs and make beautiful music out of them by chewing them into the size of a guitar string. And, he did. More than once, mind you.

He could listen to an announcer describing a horse race and run for cover as if it was a thunderstorm on the horizon. And, he did.

He could hear a sneeze from three counties over, and he would immediately run as fast as his little legs would move to his favorite couch (which he spared annihilation, mind you) and climb to the top of the back. He would look around at us, as if to say: “This is it. I’m going to end it. I will jump.” And, he did. Daily.

Crosley was a challenging sort, to be sure.

But when I described some of his shenanigans to my mom, Mrs. Betty McLean, one of the smartest people I will ever know, would just laugh and then say: “Honey, don’t you get it? He is just like you. That is what you put your mother through, too. You’re just getting yours now.”

Truth.

As our time together slipped away as fast as a Thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby, Crosley grew up a bit, and we grew together like it was meant to be. Because, in truth, it was meant to be.

He took to my oldest Golden, Belle Belle, like she was his own birth mother. At first, he sought Belle out each night as his comfort blanket. Later, he sought Belle Belle out to be her “walker.” In the end, he sought Belle Belle out to be her comfort blanket. When Belle Belle passed, Crosley stood by her side. Her only “paw” bearer.

When we got a call from Judy Schneider to let us know that Crosley’s mother and dad — Ginger and Cody — were only going to produce one more litter, we immediately jumped at the chance to add to our flock. We drove 31/2 hours back to Indiana. We drove over the same grassy hill. (No fears this time, mind you.) We drove to paradise to find Crosley’s full brother, whom LA named Haggard.

Yep. Named after one of the greatest Country Music legends, who had just passed away at that time.

Crosley took to his brother, too, like, well, he was his own brother. And, over the last 6 years they have been inseparable. Literally. They have not done anything apart. They go outside together. They go to bed together. They go for their walks together. They go to the groomers or the veterinarian together. They eat at the same time. Inseparable.

Any time that “little brother” would wander off and get into something that may not be in his best interest, “big brother” would come to the rescue. Literally. Every time. Inseparable.

Every time that “little brother” would bite off a little more than he could chew, “big brother” would roam up to his side and finish what needed finishing. Literally. Every time. Inseparable.

And, it didn’t take long before both of them knew exactly what the word “LAKE” meant, too. It meant a 4-hour ride to a little slice of heaven and a big chunk of water that they knew — just knew — had to be created just for them. It was their home. It was their hillside. It was their swimming pool. Nobody else’s. Just theirs. And, they loved it. Literally. Every single time. Inseparable.

That pretty much describes our life. Our perfect life. Together. When LA had to journey off to Frankfort to fix the world’s problems, us three — Crosley, Haggard and me — would travel West. The only thing we had to fix was our urge for peace, quiet and water. And, we worked at that every day. Together.

Until about a month ago, when I noticed that Crosley was not his normal perky self. He started to lag behind in our walks. He started to lose some of his weight-lifting girth. He started to show some red blemishes on his tummy.

It was off to the veterinarian. A new doctor in Murray, close to our lake house. A fine lady by the name of Dr. Leslie Jackson. Of course, I took Haggard along, too. After all, they were inseparable.

After a few tests on Crosley, Dr. Jackson somberly returned. She had some troubling news. Crosley was suffering from an autoimmune disorder and his blood platelets were dangerously low. She was hopeful she could save him; sustain him; and get him on a regiment of treatments to bring the situation under control. She was optimistic. But she was frank, too.

Crosley was a week in the clinic, but when he came home he looked and acted like his old self once again. He was on the road to recovery. We were elated. Haggard was thrilled.

Until a week or so ago, when Crosley sustained an injury. An infection immediately took over, and raged out of control. We tried and tried and tried. At one point, we thought we had both of the “situations” under control and he was improving.

But on Monday, things went to hell in a hand basket. On Tuesday, we made the awful, gut-wrenching  decision to let Crosley run with the angels. As LA and I sat in the doctor’s office and said our final goodbyes, Crosley wagged his tail just a bit and looked us both in the eyes. He was tired. He was worn. He was heavy-laden. He was ready. Yet, he was happy to see his family one last time.

I took off my Orvis pull-over and wrapped around his body. I wanted him to be warm. More importantly, I wanted him to know that I would always be with him.

And, in our final goodbye, I leaned over his head and kissed his face. Unexpectedly and amazingly, Crosley — not the overly-affectionate type, mind you — kissed me back. He licked my face. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe four. LA’s eyes brightened, glistening with tears. “He just kissed you goodbye.”

Then, he lowered his head back on the table and closed his eyes. Slowly. Peacefully. Contently.

He never opened them again. In a few minutes, he was gone.

But, in my heart and mind, Crosley will never be gone. Never. Ever. His amazing love will live on forever.

Just like Haggard, who kissed his brother good-bye as well, we are now inseparable. Sewn by the heart strings. Woven by love.

Forever and ever. Amen.