In honor of Barney

They hang out with me, day after day, on the little couch right behind my chair. They nap, and I hear them barking and growling and running in their dreams. When I move to another room they get up and follow me. They look disappointed when I leave them, and ecstatic when I return. I know I blog about them a lot, but they deserve it.

Yesterday I was home when our dog-walker got here. In response to the usual hello-how-are-you, he tearfully told me that his dog had passed away. Now I know that James' dog was improbably old for a larger dog, 15 or 16. Barney had been his one constant companion, he said, with him for most of his adult life, had moved with him everywhere, had been on every adventure. James felt stunned and drained and thoroughly broken-hearted.

These guys are my first dogs, so I haven't lost a pet yet, but people say it is indescribably hard. It's probably made harder because we feel foolish loving an animal so much, and we suspect the non-pet-owners think us obsessively sentimental. But they are part of our families. While the cliche of unconditional canine love is true, it is not true that they feel love at every moment. My dogs both have expressions which could never, ever be interpreted as anything other than unmitigated irritation. No, we do them a disservice to think of dogs as simplistic affection dispensers, or conversely, highly-evolved manipulators of human emotion; their commitment to us is deeper and more complicated than that. They have unique consciousness and personality and layers of character. But they are constant companions, up for any adventure. Our furry guys are starting to age, to slow down, and sometimes I think about what it will be like to have an empty spot on the couch behind me.

My Toby, who is generally a spastic flake with no attention span, is nonetheless extremely sensitive to sadness, as some dogs are. He knew all was not right with James yesterday, and instead of his usual exuberant welcome, Toby just sat quietly at James' feet as he told me about the big empty hole Barney has left in his heart. James noticed Toby there, looking up at him soberly, his ears pulled back with worry. James leaned forward and tenderly cupped Toby's soft face, bringing it close to his own, and Toby gave him one gentle kiss on the nose.

Rest in peace, Barney.