Wagging Tails, Warring Worlds

He Watched Her Like She Was the Sun

Winnie didn’t follow my wife out of boredom. He followed her because that’s where he belonged. He made that decision early and never once reconsidered it.

Where she went, he went. If she sat, he sat. If she stood up, he stood before her. Never intruding. Just waiting. Guarding. Loving.

He wasn’t just loyal. He was anchored. There wasn’t a leash in the world that could’ve kept him closer than his own heart already had.

And she felt it. You could see it every time she smiled down at him, rubbed his face, or whispered something only he would hear. He understood.

Dogs know who their person is.

Winnie knew.

Quiet, Until the End

The tumor showed up on his tail, right near the hips. Nasty, bloody thing. Kept growing. And the closer it got to the bone, the clearer the decision became.

Removing the tail wasn’t an option. We talked about it: How long we could wait and what was fair to him. But in the end, we agreed: he deserved to keep his dignity.

It hurt watching him try to wag through the pain.

She carried that agony for days, looking heartbroken with tears edging in. Me? Mine hit just before we left for that final trip to the vet. I lost it. Fully. Couldn’t hold it in.

And Winnie? He just laid down. Quiet. No yelp. No panic. Just closed his eyes and let go like he had nothing left to worry about.

That’s what hit the hardest.

Different Dogs, Same Year

Winnie and Watson were just months apart. Both around seven when it happened.

But Watson? He's built differently. Always smiling. Always snooping. Always convinced there’s something new behind every corner.

He didn’t grieve like we did. Still doesn’t. He plays ball, chases shadows, and pokes his nose into cabinets. That’s not ignorance. That’s resilience.

Dogs move forward. They don’t carry grief like a suitcase. They drop it at the edge of the field and chase the next throw.

We could learn a little from that.

Loyalty, If You’re Still Listening

Winnie wasn’t perfect. But his loyalty never slipped. Not once.

He didn’t care if the day was good or awful. He showed up anyway. Whether he got attention or not, whether we were sick or gone too long, didn’t matter. He greeted us like we’d never failed him.

That kind of loyalty is rare. Not because it’s complicated but because it’s hard. It means staying when it’s easier to go. It means putting someone else first. Every time.

We live in a world where character is window dressing, and loyalty comes with fine print. Integrity gets traded like a baseball card.

Winnie didn’t read books on virtue. He just lived it.

And somewhere across the ocean, there's a regime doing the exact opposite.

Iran Is Not Confused. It’s the Spoke That Holds the Wheel

There’s this dumb myth that Iran is just misunderstood. Needs the right deal, the right handshake, and the right carrot on a stick.

Wrong.

Iran isn’t stumbling around in the dark. It knows exactly what it’s doing.

It sits in the middle of the Middle East like a spider in a web. And every one of its legs stretches outward, to Hezbollah in Lebanon, to the Houthis in Yemen, to proxy militias in Syria and Iraq. All of it feeds back to the core.

And now, they’ve found a partner in Moscow. Russia provides the backbone, the weapons, the shield at the U.N. Iran provides the chaos, the terror, the smokescreen.

You can trace a straight line from Tehran to a dozen killing fields, and no one at the State Department has the guts to say it out loud.

We Feed the Beast While the Porch Light Flickers

We’ve turned loyalty into a liability.

We threaten Israel if they defend themselves. We tell Poland to quiet down when they ask for help. We treat Taiwan like an awkward second cousin.

Meanwhile, we wine and dine Iran like it just needs one more trust fall to come around.

They take the money, the eased sanctions, the blind eyes, and they build centrifuges. Smuggle drones. Whisper plans to Hamas. Shake hands with Putin while stabbing every Western value we claim to stand for.

Our porch light’s barely flickering, and we’re feeding the dog that keeps chewing the wires.

What a Dog Knows That Foggy Bottom Doesn’t

Winnie didn’t need a foreign policy doctrine. He knew what was worth protecting.

He didn’t leave when things got uncomfortable. He didn’t wait to be praised before showing love. He didn’t change his stripes when someone else came along.

He stayed.

And in that staying, there was honor. A word you don’t hear much anymore.

The State Department discusses interests, optics, and leverage. Dogs don’t know those words. They just know people. And purpose. And presence.

If half the diplomats had one-tenth the consistency of a good dog, this world wouldn’t be the disaster it is.

The Dog Still Plays

Watson’s not haunted. He’s not waiting at the window or moping around like an old widower.

He’s tossing his head, chasing balls, snooping in the fridge when I turn my back.

He's alive. And, in a way, that’s the greatest tribute he can offer. He’s living. Not forgetting, not replacing, just honoring what was by continuing forward.

There’s something brave in that.

Humans should be so lucky.

Final Thoughts

Winnie thought he was a lapdog. He wasn’t.

He was eighty-five pounds of fur and bone and heart. He’d clamber onto the couch like he weighed nothing and plant himself across our legs, daring us to try moving him.

And if we paused in the middle of a head rub, he'd headbutt us like, Hey, pal, you’re not done. Every single time.

He lived to be loved. Not just patted or acknowledged, loved. Fully. And most of that love was poured into my wife.

He followed her like a soldier. Stood watch like a sentry. If she left a room, he followed. If she cried, he nudged her hand. If she laughed, his tail shook the furniture.

He didn’t just adore her. He belonged to her. Completely.

Now, here’s the strange truth.

Iran, in its perverse way, demands that same attention. It shouts. It lashes out. It throws tantrums on the world stage, hoping we’ll look, respond, engage.

But it’s not loyalty. It’s ego. It’s manipulation. It’s a threat dressed up as needed.

Winnie wanted to be close. Iran wants to be in control.

And there’s the difference. One asks to be loved. The other demands to be obeyed.