When I met my wife 11 years ago, she had two dogs, Simon & Tobias. I had never owned a pet, and so the experience of first having one as an adult was something new, and wonderful. My wife comes from a family of dog lovers, and she is a caretaker by nature. Tobias she got at birth, and he fit in the palm of her hand as a puppy. A few years later, she came across a dog in the street, young but not a puppy, battered and emaciated. She took him in, and named him Simon.
He required a lot of work to train, domesticate, and bring back to health. We do not know his backstory, but at the time Samantha found him, he was in bad enough shape that the doctors recommended putting him on bed rest. Samantha, the daughter of a doctor, did the opposite. She fed him, walked him and took him on hikes, and provided him with love. But much damage had already been done. When a young animal goes through profound traumas, the effects are felt for life.
As a newcomer to dog ownership, I was fascinated by the differences between the two of them. Tobias, who had never had a hard day in his life and who was protected by Samantha always, saw the world with great optimism. He was full of smiles, charisma, and playfulness, and at the dog park his confidence made him a magnet for attention. Tobias would create a massive game of tag with the other dogs, with all of them chasing after him. He was quick and shifty. It was pure play--delightful, innocent, and even hilarious.
Unlike Tobias, Simon's eyes had seen more. Growing up outside of the blanket of warmth and protection provided by a loving family, he had to survive, and we suspect he did so with mixed results. On the one hand, had managed to stay alive, but a part of his youthful innocence was taken away from him at an early age. He knew that people and animals were capable of kindness, and cruelty. His demeanor reflected this knowledge, and he lived his life with a somewhat circumspect outlook. While Tobias, the alpha, was frolicking in his raucous game of tag, Simon would walk on the outskirts of the park, rarely interacting with the other dogs and preferring to keep to himself. He hung his head, and I understood why: he didn't feel confident, and hanging his head allowed him to avoid interactions and conflict, while protecting the most vulnerable parts of his anatomy--his neck and chest. Humans do the same, while the victors walk around chest out, announcing themselves everywhere.
Unfortunately, animals can smell fear and weakness, and hiding alone is often not enough. Early on, while at the dog park, a pack of dogs attacked Simon, one of them biting off his ear. This was before I knew him or Samantha, but I could see that his ear had to be surgically repaired, and it never quite looked right. In all of the years since, people would often observe his quirky ear, and I would stay pretty much to myself on the subject, simply noting it along with them. I'd make a joke about it and laugh about it with good nature, subjugating the part of myself that wanted to explain its history in favor of a lighter exchange.
The thought of this fight haunted me for years, making me sad and at times, angry--reflecting on how animals pick on the weak. Occasionally, I had fantasies about being there for that event, so that I'd have the opportunity to protect him. And then I'd wonder, would I have had the courage? Samantha did. She jumped right into the fray to protect Simon and broke up the fight. But would I? I wasn't sure how I'd have reacted, and it hurt me not to know this about myself. But, when these questions go unanswered for some time, they attenuate, and I eventually learned to let it go and live without the knowledge of how I'd react.
Things returned to normal and we spent countless hours at the dog park after that. We took Simon and Tobias everywhere with our family and they were like children: the alpha, confident and charismatic, and the Omega. I was aware at the time that their opposite natures were healthy for me. As their father, I had to love and care for them both for who they were, not for how I wished them to be. In many ways, this redefined my understanding of the word love. In secular American parlance, the word love is most often meant to mean something like "feeling intense affection for". We love our favorite foods and movies and friends and all sorts of other things that give us what we want or need. But the more mature form of love is the way we treat a thing. To love something means "to tend to it with care and kindness by investing our effort into it". In this meaning, to love something references what we do to it, not what it does for us. As it turns out, by tending to things with love over time, the first type of love, how we feel about it, is an emergent property. And in this way, it is more lasting than our ephemeral and capricious predilections. By investing in a thing, we create something that has a piece of ourselves implanted within it.
So we loved them every day, tending to all their needs. At some point early on, we decided to put Simon on Fluoxetine, an anti-anxiety medication. Without it, we could barely leave him alone, and with it, he was much better off and more comfortable in his own skin. With the medication, his family, and Tobias at his side, Simon flourished. And that is how things went for many years--a happy family of five with two dogs that were like brothers to each other. If a dog every tried to pick on Simon, Tobias, his little brother, would step right into the fight. And even though Tobias was a small little puggle, other dogs backed down to his confidence and courageousness. That's how it is--confidence and security in oneself breeds respect. Many of those dogs could have taken Tobias physically--but none could beat his will. Simon was lucky to have him as a brother.
One night I was out walking the two dogs around the block. I saw up the road a car pull into a driveway and thought nothing of it. Two dogs emerged from the car and ran to greet us on our walk, or so I thought. As they ran toward us, my perspective shifted quickly from "they are coming to play" to "they are attacking". They were off leash, and I didn't know what to do with my two dogs on leashes. Do I let the leashes go so they can run? With no time to decide, instinct took over, and in the middle of the street I got down on the ground and fought the two dogs with my hands, trying to protect my boys. Tobias held his ground and fought with me. Simon, predictably, was off to the races and ran down the block. Within about thirty seconds the attacking dogs' owner came and got them off us, but it was a moment that I'll never forget. I retrieved Simon from down the block, and we were all okay. The boys licked each other and made sure the other was okay, and life went on. I can't say for sure whether this encounter answered any questions I had about myself. Although, looking back, I certainly do not feel any regret about my reaction--perhaps that's good enough.
There are countless stories and memories--too many to tell. Last summer during COVID, Samantha and I decided to get out of LA for the summer. We rented an RV and drove across the country to Providence, RI, where we stayed for two months; it was an incredible adventure, seeing this glorious land with nothing but family and time along for the ride. Simon came with us--part of the family as always.
About three months ago Simon started vomiting quite regularly. We took him to the vet and got him meds that worked a little, but it never stopped. He started to develop a limp in his back legs, and about two weeks ago this limp turned into an inability to use his back legs altogether. The vet said it was likely a slipped disc due to the bilateral effects, and to try resting him for two weeks to see if things improved. Instead, he atrophied and took a major turn for the worse, losing 8 lbs over the period, or about 20% of his body weight.
Two nights ago he needed to go outside in the middle of the night, so I took him. This wasn't so abnormal; it's a part of having dogs-- that sometimes they need to relieve themselves in the middle of the night. But this time, Simon couldn't make it back up the stairs. Typically he did not like to be touched or lifted, but I reached down to carry him up the stairs. He allowed me to do this with no fight or fidgeting at all, laying in my arms like a baby. It was sweet. I didn't want to let him go and spent a while with him laying in my lap, something he'd never done before. It felt amazing to care for him and to tend to his most basic needs. But at the same time I knew. I knew that his comfort in my arms was his resignation from life. There were no good days ahead.
Yesterday we said goodbye to our beloved dog Simon. He was a complicated character. But ultimately, he was full of love for Samantha, me, our children, and our whole family. I will miss so much about him, especially his loving greetings at the front door.
His life left its body yesterday around 2PM, but it will remain in our hearts forever.
