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If I could ever offer a genuine goodwill blessing to anyone, it would be this: “May you find something that makes you as happy as Bandit on the other side of the door.”

Bandit is my beautiful, old English Setter. She is the smartest and best dog I ever had, and she loves the other side of the door.

She really is beautiful. She is white with a bunch of black spots. When I get her shaved down for the summer, people ask me if she is a Dalmatian.

The owner of her mother named her Bandit because two black spots cover her eyes as if she is wearing a bandit’s mask.

At night, Bandit loves to play a game where she goes in and out of the front door about 10,000 times. Every time she walks through the door to the other side, she is as happy and proud of herself as can be.

It doesn’t matter if she just came in 30 seconds ago, she wants to go back out. It’s not what is on the other side of the door as much as it is crossing over.

The look of satisfaction on her face as she heads out is only topped by the look when she comes back in. Even though this makes watching television a little difficult, Bandit is in heaven going in and out.

Bandit came into my life about a month and a half after my old mutt Sadie passed away in 2012. I was heartbroken from the loss of my best friend and I wasn’t looking for a new dog just yet.

One night at work at The Montana Standard, though, reporter Nick Gevok told me, “I still have one of Safire’s pups.”

Until I met Bandit, Safire was the prettiest and best-behaved dog I have ever seen. Nick knew that someday wanted to get a dog just like that.

Bandit was 14 weeks old. She was still available because a sale to a hunter fell through at the last minute. If only that hunter knew what he missed out on.

On May 5, 2012, Nick brought Bandit to me before I left work at the paper. “You won’t believe how quickly she gets attached to you,” Nick said, knowing the breed of dog well.

I told my kids to stay up late because I had a surprise for them. My daughters, then 9 and 2, loved her right away. My son, who was 4, was mad because he assumed I was bringing him a toy.

Bandit was definitely not a toy, but she ate a bunch of them.

She ate toys, shoes, power cords, bowls, spatulas and anything else she could fit in her mouth.

During our honeymoon eight years earlier, my wife and I traveled all over Las Vegas so Kim could find a specific pair of Harley Davidson sandals. We finally found them at a small shop in the airport.

Bandit ate those sandals. She left them in shreds, and Kim has never been able to find a similar pair.

I talked Kim out of killing Bandit that morning, but by then we both decided she was the last puppy we would ever have. While she was always awesome to be around, you had to keep an eye on her at all times.

She was more work than a baby.

After a few months, though, Bandit became the absolute perfect dog. She was the dog I had always wanted.

Bandit was the best running partner before my body broke down. She would go with me all the time, jumping in and out of Silver Bow Creek as I ran along the trail near Rocker.

If I ran 7 miles, Bandit ran at least 21, and she was always looking to go again.

Bandit doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She would literally never hurt a fly. One time she accidentally caught a bird, and I really think she actually felt guilty about it.

Sure, she will bark at people on the other side of the fence, but she will just try to lick their face if they open the gate.

Bandit is so attached to me that, in 2016, I had to give in and let my oldest daughter get another dog. She said Bandit is too focused to me. Plus, she wanted a lap dog.

I have always subscribed to the Ron Swanson theory that, “Any dog under 50 pounds is a cat, and cats are pointless.”

Then, I met Boogie, and he changed my mind. 

Boogie is an off-white Shih Tzu-Lhasa Apso cross who we rescued from Sandy, Utah. No, I didn’t climb through a window of a burning building to grab him just before the roof collapsed. I met his foster parents at a Pet Smart and gave them $150.

Not exactly Tommy Gavin in Rescue Me, but “rescue” is the pretentious way to say you adopted a dog. I want to be pretentious.

Boogie is about a third of the size of Bandit. He weighs 22 pounds, but he is pretty sure that he is a Saint Bernard. 

He keeps our family safe. He sees that as his job, and he takes it seriously. He is so serious about it that he doesn’t like anybody but the five people in our immediate family.

Thanks to Boogie, our house is safe from axe murderers, burglars and little girls on their bikes.

He controls Bandit, too, often chasing her to her bed so he can have my lap all to himself. 

Just like Bandit, Boogie always greets me when I come home like he hasn’t seen me in years — even when I forget something and return to the house just seconds after I left.

He sees me coming home through the front window. He puts one foot on the window sill and uses the other to swipe the blinds open.

When I sit at my computer to write, the dogs are almost always at my feet. They follow me from room to room. Even the bathroom.

Boogie is always full of surprises, too. We had him 6 years before we knew he would howl along with me when I whistle.

It is so cute that it might actually be illegal.

Like with Bandit, Boogie is always there to join me no matter what I do. I can go for a long hike, watch football or sleep all day, and I can always count on my best pals to join me with unbridled enthusiasm.

That is why they call them “man’s best friend.”

The cruel thing about dogs is that they don’t live very long, and every story, movie or song about a dog is a sad one in the end.

At least it is sad until you get your next dog. As George Carlin once beautifully put it, “Life is a series of dogs.”

I feel sorry for people who don’t have at least one. A life without dogs is no life at all.

Bandit and Boogie are getting older and showing signs of age. We think Boogie is about 10. We know Bandit’s birthday.

They both are slowing down, but Bandit is slowing much faster. She doesn’t want me to lift her in and out of the truck because she is proud. But I think she appreciates it when I do.

Bandit is 11½, and Google tells me the life expectancy for English Setters is about 12 years. Ankle biters like Boogie seem to live forever.

Someday way too soon, I know Bandit is going to pass through to the other side of the door one final time. Hopefully I have a couple of more years with her, and I try to make every day last as long as possible.

When she goes, I know I will miss her until the day that I die. Like Mr. Bojangles, I’ll be still grieving after 20 years for Bandit and Boogie.

But at least I know their memory will always make me happy, and I know they will live forever in my heart.

Every day they have lived with me, they have made me as happy as Bandit on the other side of that door.

— Bill Foley, who could use someone to lift him in and out of his truck, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74 before that billionaire weirdo ruins it. Listen to the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.