Not every story is a happy one. We lost Daphne, or rather, she lost us, almost one year ago. But she deserves a spot here, too.

This is Daphne. Definitely the most difficult dog we ever had, but we loved her just the same.

She had an unholy food aggression, a leftover trait from her puppyhood, when she was the littlest dog of a truck driver who couldn’t pay her enough attention to make sure she got to the food bowl. She never wanted for food in our home, but the memory must have remained deep in her bones. No other dog was safe around her food. Or around their food.

She was fence-proof. At our old house, we had a four-foot fence that kept the other two dogs safe in our yard. She liked to stand on top of it. And take off when she saw a squirrel. Or a human. Or nothing at all.

When we moved to our new home seven years ago, situated on a busy street, we spent $4,000 on an underground fence. The installation crew promised it would keep everyone safe in the backyard, away from the cars tearing down Route 11.

Clearly, they had never met Daphne.

She stayed put most of the time. But when the four little dogs next door came out yapping, not even a little zap could keep Daphne in the confines of our yard.

This created quite a problem.

They say fences make good neighbors, but when they don’t work right, even gentle folks lose their tempers.

Daphne was a Plott Hound. Her ancestors were trained to hunt wild boar in Germany. Daphne had several kills to her name. A couple baby bunnies, one kitten. We were horrified, but she was true to her breed.

So she saw the little dogs next door as prey, not friends. And when she broke through the electric fence to hunt them, angry words were exchanged between us and our kind neighbors. I didn’t blame them. I sort of blamed Daphne.

She last escaped in the early morning after I’d just gotten home from a brutal night shift. It was bad. The neighbor contacted me by Facebook Messenger—Daphne had to go.

I don’t know if Daphne sensed we’d reached a crossroads. When she went for a run with Robbie later that day and saw a deer, she took off. We never saw her again.

I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone, though I miss her. I don’t like confrontation. And the neighbors had a point. Even though we were in the habit of letting Daphne out only on a leash, accidents happened. And one day, one of those accidents was likely to get one of those little dogs killed.

I drove through the countryside in the weeks after she took off, looking for her silhouette on one of the hills. Looking for her body on the side of the road. I never found her.

It’s hard to lose a dog. We’ve lost five in our thirty years of marriage. But Daphne was the hardest, because we never got to say goodbye.

I still look for her when I’m out on my bicycle. I like to think she found a home on a nice farm, with plenty of space to run and bay. I like to think she spared us the pain of re-homing her.

I believe dogs have shorter lives than we do, because each dog is there to teach us a specific lesson. And humans have a lot to learn.

Daphne taught us about patience. About loving a family member through the snarls. About trusting the universe found a better place for her.

I swear I hear her baying outside my bedroom window some nights. Just saying hi in her aggressive way.

I’m doing fine, female human. No need to worry about me. I’m my own master. And I’m having a good time.