The Family Dog

An ode to the dogs who raised me

Every dog that has ever been in my life, has saved me.

They have walked a path along side of me, as my companion, my buddy, the living breath next to my heart that helped me never feel alone.

I was born into a family that had Rottweilers. Big, muscular, beautiful Rottweilers. A breed that are descendants from dogs who were part of the Roman Empire, bred as working class and protectors, considered dangerous and at many times, on breed restriction lists.

Definitely not family dogs, definitely not the type of dog that would greet you at the door with a wagging nub and sit on your lap at every chance they would get. A dog that played with you and your adolescent friends who ran and screamed through the house. A dog that loved his girls and obeyed his commands. A dog that was memorable to most people who met him.

My parents bought Bubba home from a breeder when I was maybe 5 or 6 years old. He was the puppy to my kid-ness, complete with black fluff, a tiny nub, razor sharp teeth, and as much energy as I had.

The night we brought him home, he ‘slept’ in a crate downstairs in the kitchen, and cried the whole time until I went downstairs and crawled into the crate with him. I remember him pulling my sisters Barbies out of their play cars by the hair, my sisters crying “Bubbalini! Bubbalini! Those are mine” as we laughed and tried to tug them away. I remember how obedient he was, listening to every word and command my dad told him, never crossing a line that was not supposed to be crossed.

What I remember the most though, was his companionship when I was going through chemo therapy. How he would lay next to the couch I was curled up on during days out of school and feeling sick from the after effects. How the comfort of his soft, velvety head underneath my fingertips would feel like a grounding force. He was there for me in a way I wouldn’t understand until I became much older and had dogs of my own.

He transitioned when he was around 9 years old and maybe the most distinct memory I have seared into my brain was seeing my dad outside with him for the last time. As I watched from inside the old, Bubba laid in the grass, my dad looking down at him, his arms crossed over his own chest, his shoulder slumped. At the time, my kid mind only knew that the family dog was sick, that he wasn’t going to be with us much longer, but now as an adult who has lost multiple dogs, I understand the slump in my dad’s stance. The hurt and sadness that he was feeling in the moment. How the film roll of memories were probably playing through his brain, how the deep ache his heart would feel even after Bubba was no longer with us.

After Bubba passed, our family went years without a dog and it wasn’t until I moved home from college that another one came into our lives. Like most millennials who graduated during the 2010 recession, I moved back home with my parents. My sister was away at Penn State and my 20 something self trying to navigate the new world of ‘freedom’, I was the hottest of messes with no real direction, minimal self esteem, and going through the type of breakup that makes you feel like your world is going to end.

That’s when Rufio came into my life. My family’s first rescue, the runt of the litter, the little guy who we thought was part Pitbull (which is now laughable), the new family dog.

The day we went to pick him up I was a half adult human in the backseat of my parents car, excited to get the puppy she wished for and wanted. Ready for the responsibility, ready to bring another breathing soul into our home, ready for something new and happy.

Taking care of Rufio gave me a sense of purpose, it gave me a sense of caring for something other than myself at a very selfish time in my life. Through the sadness of my breakup and misdirection of what I was doing with my life, through those dis-shelved and transitional years, Rufio became my crutch to love and lean on. We soon shared a room and he started to go everywhere with me. Trips to the store, to the beach, even the occasional trip to the gym. He was my buddy, the unconditional love that my heart had been longing for.

Looking back, as he grew from a puppy, I began to grow as well. I started to move on from the lost and heartbroken 20-something, to getting a ‘real’ job and moving out on my own for the first time. I was progressing in the next chapter of my life; the one that would be one of the most impactful and purposeful.

The chapter where I would meet my future husband and start my own business, the one that would bring my own Soul dogs into my life and start my step into advocacy, the one that I would look back at and say, ‘I am so proud of her.’

For years there were multiple dogs at family functions, sometimes 4 at a time. For a lot of families the seating arrangements are planned by who gets along with who, for us, it was which dog had to be where. Holiday seating was coordinated according to which side which dog had to be on, who needed water, who wasn’t allowed to eat scraps. Who was under the table begging and “somebody peed!” being yelled over the conversation. It was sometimes madness, even a little extreme at times, but in our family, dogs are family, and they always have a seat under the table.

Now, for the first time in over a decade, there is no need to fill up the water bowl or coordinate whose bed goes where. For the first time in over a decade, there are no paw prints to clean off or sneak scraps to. For the time time in over a decade, the family dog(s) are no longer Earth side. Instead, they are over the Rainbow Bridge and having holidays together there.

I know in my heart and whole body that there will be other dogs in my life, to teach me new lessons, show me new love, and be the companion I need when I need it, there is no denying that. Although my heart isn’t ready yet, still full of grief that waxes and wanes, the thought of opening it is exciting, even if it’s unknown.

The lessons and love I take from each of the dogs in my life is irreplaceable, embedded into my bones and lives next to the grief in my heart. The companionship and warmth of their love will never be lost on me or forgotten. And the love they showed me, the unconditional, unfathomable, massive love they provided me, can never be undone.

February 2012, the day we brought Rufio home with us.

If you are moving through Pet Loss Grief and would love some extra support, here are some resources that may help your heart.