Turk was adopted into our family after my younger sister and I had been gone from the house for some years. The essence of his name came from the experience my mother and father shared in Turkey during the time of the Korean war. They were engaged for three years, and the last two of them were spent together in Turkey while my father taught boys' school there. "Turk" was a joy to be around from the moment he came into the household as a puppy. As most cherished pets do, he developed his own personality and succeeded in winning over all of our hearts--including my grandparents, who kept food and bowls and special toys just for Turk when he came to visit. His breed was part 'mutt', part Schitzu. At times, my sister and I would joke that Turk was the favored offspring of us all. He lived about fifteen and one-half human years. That equals about 108.5 dog years. He had severe arthritis and some other usual maladies one would expect from old age; eventually, one could tell he was starting to give up, perhaps sensing that 'something', as they say dogs can. In the end, he went to sleep painlessly, as he very richly deserved. This biography does not do justice to the happiness he brought into all of our lives, especially my parents'. I myself cannot do justice either, as he lived with my parents, and they should be the ones to have the honor. However, I hope that I have been able to leave some sort of soothing memory out there for everyone whose lives were enriched by Turk.
Turk was adopted into our family after my younger sister and I had been gone from the house for some years. The essence of his name came from the experience my mother and father shared in Turkey during the time of the Korean war. They were engaged for three years, and the last two of them were spent together in Turkey while my father taught boys' school there. "Turk" was a joy to be around from the moment he came into the household as a puppy. As most cherished pets do, he developed his own personality and succeeded in winning over all of our hearts--including my grandparents, who kept food and bowls and special toys just for Turk when he came to visit. His breed was part 'mutt', part Schitzu. At times, my sister and I would joke that Turk was the favored offspring of us all. He lived about fifteen and one-half human years. That equals about 108.5 dog years. He had severe arthritis and some other usual maladies one would expect from old age; eventually, one could tell he was starting to give up, perhaps sensing that 'something', as they say dogs can. In the end, he went to sleep painlessly, as he very richly deserved. This biography does not do justice to the happiness he brought into all of our lives, especially my parents'. I myself cannot do justice either, as he lived with my parents, and they should be the ones to have the honor. However, I hope that I have been able to leave some sort of soothing memory out there for everyone whose lives were enriched by Turk.
