In Loving Memory of Thundar
The Gentle Giant of the Lake
Thundar’s name was chosen with pride—after the mighty Bison of NDSU, a symbol of strength and heart. Yet, even the name could only hint at the enormity of his presence. For while Thundar was indeed a big, powerful Labrador Retriever, what made him truly larger-than-life was the quiet grace and gentleness that seemed to move with him like a shadow.
Born with a pedigree of show dogs and hunting champions, Thundar and his brother Gibbs came from Smith Family Farms in southern Minnesota. But titles and ribbons were never the point for Thundar. His stage was the lakeshore, the family home, the warm lap of a recliner where he never once considered that 110 pounds might disqualify him from being a “lap dog.”
There was an unforgettable chapter in Thundar’s story—one that revealed both his independence and his loyalty. As a young dog, while out checking deer cameras with his human, Thundar strayed from Gibbs' side and vanished into the woods. He did not return that day, leaving his family in distress. As the search stretched into the night, we never lost hope. The next morning, at the sound of the whistle, Thundar emerged from the trees, whole, waiting, and hungry. When Gibbs bounded to greet him, Thundar offered a sharp nip, a grumble that seemed to say, “You led me into the dark, brother. I slept under the trees until Dad came for me. If we had a doghouse, YOU would be in it.”
Thundar’s life was woven into the fabric of his family’s days. He welcomed three rescued cats into his world, most notably Carson, the 16-pound feline who often shared Thundar’s bed. He befriended the children of the beach, who stretched out on his broad back as if he were a living pillow, their laughter mixing with the summer breeze. He knew the road to Erhard Hills Pet Resort by heart, bounding joyfully toward Bev, his “second mom,” the moment the car door opened.
At home, he was a constant—a gentle giant whose head resting on a knee could hold the weight of a thousand unspoken words. His deep brown eyes carried a steady message: “I love you, and I always will.”
Since his passing, his absence is felt everywhere. Abby the cat sleeps in his bed. Gibbs cried for a week until his brother’s collar was placed beside him. The children still speak his name in hushed affection.
Thundar’s greatest gift was not his size, his bark, or his pedigree—it was his gentleness. The kind that turns a large dog into a safe harbor. The kind that turns a house into a home. And though his paws will never again press into the lakeshore sand, his spirit lingers in every ripple, every laugh, and every quiet moment when love is remembered.
