On Saying Goodbye to My Friend

Some weeks, leading up to when I write these essays I wonder what I’ll have to write about. The best ones seem to come from some event in my life that I really need to talk about. Sometimes they’re fun and exciting, sometimes they’re a place for me to vent frustration, and sometimes they’re an outlet for emotions that I don’t otherwise know how to handle. Unfortunately, today is that last one.

TW: The passing of a dearly beloved animal.

This past Friday, we said goodbye to the best dog I’ve ever met, Sophie. For those of you who didn’t have the good fortune to meet Sophie, let me paint you a picture of the kind of dog she was: Sophie was a big, beautiful, German Shepherd mix with the longest legs you’ve ever seen. She had these soulful, somewhat anxious eyes, that looked deep into your soul. She also had the softest ears you’d ever feel, and unlike many German Shepherds, they weren’t always tall and pointy. Sure, when she was on alert they’d perk straight up, but when she was walking around just enjoying the world, they’d flop around and get horizontal enough that a lady we met on a walk once called them “airplane ears” a term I’ve loved ever since.

My parents got Sophie a year or two after our first family dog, Matilda, passed away. Both of these events happened while I was away at college so I never got to say a proper goodbye to Matilda. Matilda was a wonderful dog but also an absolute mess. She was a rescue who’d clearly seen some shit. She didn’t really get along with other dogs, would herd my friends and me into the corners of the backyard, and would foam at the mouth when we took her to the dog park. Sophie was the complete opposite. She loved everyone, was incredibly chill, and was a perfect dog park dog.

The thing about getting a dog is that you know that at some point, no matter how hard you try to take care of them, no matter how much love you give them, you’ll have to say goodbye to them. They pass through our lives, demarcating certain periods, whether that be your childhood, your entry into adulthood, or parenthood, and then they’re gone. What makes that relationship so special, though, is for the dog we’re here for them their whole life.

To a dog, this world must be so confusing with its cars and elevators and leaf-blowers and televisions. And yet we are these pillars of stability, these towering figures that love them and care for them when they’re sick, and feed them, and need their comfort when we’re suffering…but we’re always there. They go from being puppies to sweet old dogs and we’re just there, mostly the same, but always there.

Dogs, and really any pet you love deeply, are so special for teaching us to love something that won’t be there forever, teaching us to enjoy just running through an open field, or savor those leftovers you didn’t even enjoy that much. They love without limits, they see everything without judging, and they would do anything for you because they know you’ll care for and protect them no matter what.

So, Sophie, I’ll miss you every time I visit my parents’ house and don’t see those floppy ears bouncing in the window. I’ll think about you every time I drop a chip on the floor. I’ll love you forever, but I’ll know that somewhere up there in the great dog park in the sky, you’re lying on a big comfy couch, soaking up the sun and I’ll see you again one day.