‘Plenty of Neighborhood Folks Knew Me Only By My Dog. They Knew His Name, not Mine.’
via When my dog Lucky died, I disappeared too – Animal Tracks.
Among the cruelest truths of biology is this: A dog’s life is considerably shorter than a human’s life. The math is unforgiving; if you love a dog, you will lose a dog, and you will suffer the pain and biting lessons that death brings — probably several times over.
A million things are wrong when your dog dies. Here’s just one: You become invisible.
My Lucky passed away a year ago this spring and my loss was profound; those of you who’ve been through this understand; those of you who haven’t, I’m not nearly a good enough writer to describe it to you. My grief was complicated because, as my reporting sidekick for many years, Lucky was a mini-celebrity. He had completed several cross-country trips with me as we chronicled American life. We even had a theme song (“It’s Bob and Lucky’s/Hidden Fee Tour of America!”). He was a fantastic journalist. And he died suddenly, just as we were going to leave on a new trip, so I had the task of disappointing readers and sources from coast to coast, telling them that Lucky wouldn’t be sticking his head out my Jeep window this time.
But my sadness grew even deeper as I realized that my entire life, right down to how I interact with the world, had changed. Pet owners know the “You’re Fido’s owner!” phenomenon well. Plenty of neighborhood folks knew me only by my dog. They knew his name, not mine. When he passed away suddenly, I felt like I’d disappeared.
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More dogs and animals at PJ Lifestyle:
Sparky was a rescue shelter dog, born with three legs, and the front one had to have a steel rod inserted as his paw was missing a couple of bones. Whenever we visit the shelter, I’m known as Sparky’s dad.
Unonditional love: how sweet it is! You were both Lucky.
I live on a dog-heavy courtyard. I know the dogs by name, not their humans. This is very common.
If our pets lives were longer than ours, they would suffer the pain of losing us rather than the other way around. Experiencing grief, so that they never have to, is our last gift to them.
Mr Mayo, well said.
My golden (Lucy) is just turning 8 and never lets me out of her sight when I am home. She lives for me to throw tennis balls with the chucker and to take her on walks in the woods and swimming in the creek near the house. I know that day is coming and know it won’t be an easy one to get over. My condolences and best wishes to you.
To be known as ‘Fido’s mum’ is a general phenomenon. For me, it becomes hilarious when I don’t recognise people once they’re dog-less, for example when we run across each other in a shopping centre. I can’t remember their faces, but would recognise their dogs anywhere at any time …
Yes, our dogs die before us, and the grief can be terrible and devastating.
Once we accept in our hearts that this is the price we have to pay for the company, the unfailing love, the fun, the wags and barks of our dogs, then this grief becomes somewhat easier to bear. People who cannot bear to pay this price should not have dogs.
I had a black lab/hound mix named Scoobie for almost fifteen years. The neighborhood kids knew her name but not mine. About a month-and-a-half before she died, I was walking her through the neighborhood. A muscular young man driving a tricked-out Monte Carlo suddenly stopped his car next to us. “Hey, is that Scoobie?” he yelled from his car window.
“Yes, it is,” I replied.
“Awww, man – I remember pettin’ her when I was a kid!” he responded before before driving away. I have two black lab mixes now; my mom joked that Scoobie was so special, I had to replace her with two dogs.
Bob, I am so sorry for your loss and I have no doubt that Lucky was an incredible ‘lucky’ dog to have had you as his companion. A few years ago, my wife and I lost the companionship of our oldest kitty (23 1/2 years old) and I don’t think a day passes that we don’t think of her and look out to the flower bed where she was put to rest and say hello to our departed sweetie. And I hope you and Rusty have a very long and special companionship too. Take Care.
This is only surpassed by the thought of what might happen to them, if something happens to you.
Seven rescued beagles, and the thought frightens me more than Ostupidhead.
Tell me about it. In an apartment complex I lived in for years, I was known far and wide as “Coco’s owner”.
Sorry for your loss. We all hope Rusty has a long and happy life ahead of him.
Bob, our sincere belated condolences. The thing to remember when a beloved animal companion goes on before is that they’re waiting on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, eagerly anticipating being reunited with their loved one too. Not that it helps much in the immed. aftermath of loss, but can help assuage that loss with the passage of time.
Our Skittles, a blue heeler mix, lived to be 18 yrs., 2 mos. to the day. In our condo bldg. we also were known mostly as her mom & dad. But oddly enough while giving our sorrowful news, most of the folks made an effort to know our ‘real’ names, to express their sympathy better. So her work as an ambassadress cont’d even tho she was gone.