You and I will meet again, When we’re least expecting it, One day in some far off place, I will recognize your face, I won’t say goodbye my friend, For you and I will meet again.
An open letter to my dog’s new caretaker. Not every relationship is forever.
I’d like to introduce you to my dog Darwin. He’s a great dog. I just can’t keep him here. I know you’ll do a better job of caring for him, and I know he’ll be happy with you. I really don’t want to say goodbye to him, but I guess I must. As I said, I can’t keep him here.
Before you take him, there are a few things I’d like you to know about my best friend. I’ll never meet you before you take him, so I thought I’d write them out for you. Please pay attention, these are important:
1) Never, ever, EVER leave him unleashed near any amount of water. That goes for anything from the size of Lake Erie to that rut in the middle of your lawn that sometimes fills with water when it rains. He will wallow in it like a pig.
Actually, scratch what I just wrote. Some of my favorites memories of Darwin are of him wallowing in the mud, with a silly smile on his face, tail wagging. Enjoy those times, too. If you can’t find the humor in those moments, you don’t deserve my dog.
2) Darwin’s not as fast as he used to be. He doesn’t get up to greet me anymore when I come home from work. He still wags his tail when he sees me, but he has an embarrassed look on his face. One that says, “I love you, Lady, but I’m afraid I might need some help getting up to greet you properly”. Don’t make him get up…if he’s comfortable, and you make him get up to greet you, you don’t deserve him. I’d ask for him back, but as I said, I can’t keep him here.
3) Darwin has a sneaky sense of smell (it’s one of the few senses that haven’t failed him). He can’t hear me unless I’m close to him, but damn! That dog can smell a pill in an entire jar of peanut butter. Mercifully, you won’t have the same problems with needing to give him pills. But I’m sure he’d still love the peanut butter.
4) Affection. Darwin is part Lab, part Care Bear. Make sure you let him know you love him. His favorite spot is behind his left ear, but recently he loves having his sides scratched. He’s too old to get at them himself – his legs are so arthritic now, he can only give those areas a perfunctory swipe before he gives up. Help the old guy out won’t you?
5) Let him know I love him. Tell him every day that I didn’t want to give him up. That I fought tooth and nail for him. That I fought long after I should have stopped. Because he’s ready to go with you now. I can see that. Like I said, I can’t keep him here. It isn’t right for me to keep him here. I know he’ll be fine with you, but it’s so scary for me to watch him cross that bridge, knowing it only goes in one direction. Just let him know that I’ll be there for him, and that he’s still my boy.
Take care of him. Tell him I love him. But most importantly, tell him I’ll be coming for him when I can’t stay here anymore either. You may have to care for him until I join him, but he’s always going to be my dog.
I lost my best friend, Darwin, in 2007, after ten years with him. He was a rescue, roughly 1.5 years old when I adopted him, and I cherished every moment with him, even when marriage, babies and work made those moments not quite as frequent as they used to be. It’s been almost ten years since I lost him, and I still am amazed at how training a client’s Lab, who happens to look a bit like Darwin, will make me teary-eyed, or how hearing the song “Atomic Dog”, which all my friends dubbed “his” song, will make me long for a hike with D-Dog. But above all, I’m grateful to have had him in my life.
Dog Training in Cleveland, Ohio