Feeling a tad raw today. A combination of the untold suffering in the world, worries about the future (mine, yours, our country’s, humanity), and recovering from facial surgery on an eyelid–just a small carcinoma, but eyelid surgery is not to be recommended. Nor is anesthesia during reconstructive surgery when you have CFS and POTS symptoms. I’m back to wobbling all over, running out of gas way too soon, and having the mental acuity of a cabbage. (Example: It took a few seconds to find the name for “the light green coleslaw vegetable” in my brain. At least I started out being descriptive.)
Personally, it’s all good news. The surgeon says in six to twelve months my face will be back to normal. I have forgiven him for not adding in a neck lift while he put my eyelids back together. I am 100% confident that I’ll be back to where I was energy/balance wise in a few weeks or so. I am savoring the beautiful, sunny weather here (60’s today!), and continue to be in awe of living in such a beautiful place.
And globally? Let’s just say that we all need to love, and be loved, more than ever. That must be why, when looking for a topic to write about, I was drawn to my book, For the Love of a Dog. Unlike The Other End of the Leash, it’s sales were just okay, but I loved writing it. So much to learn about comparative emotions in people and dogs, including what might be the same, what might be different. It’s been eighteen years since I wrote it, so, of course, we’ve learned a lot since then. But the sections on the love between people and dogs, I suspect, will be eternal. Today feels like a good day to focus on that.
Here’s the Afterword:
As I write this, it’s been a year since Luke died, almost to the day. It’s snowing now, the white flakes sifting onto Luke’s memorial stone in the high pasture. Lassie is lying on the sheepskin at my feet. She is fine now, as am I. A few months after Luke’s death, Lassie began to beg me to let her work sheep, so I opened the gate to the pen and asked her to drive the sheep to the far corner. I helped her at first, standing behind her to back her up as she faced off the flock’s toughest sheep, the sheep only Luke would’ve taken on before. She gathered her courage step by step, leaning forward into the job, committed to holding her ground, taking over from her father. She works like a dream now, steady and brave each night as she holds the sheep off the feeders so I don’t get trampled. She sparkles with joy every evening when she picks up her toys, flings them through the air, teases me to grab hold and play tug of war with her.
I’m fine now too. I still miss Luke, I miss him a lot. A part of me died with Luke, as always happens when someone we love deeply dies. But a part of Luke will always live on in me, and my heart doesn’t hurt the way it did before. There are days when I still tear up over Luke, occasional days in which I give in to a good cry. But those days are lessening, and it feels in my heart that Luke and I have both moved on.
I live on the farm with three dogs now, with Lassie and Pip and Tulip, and I love each of them deeply. My love for each dog is different—Tulip is my clown, my stand up comedian, who I can count on to cheer me up on the darkest day with her puppy-like gamboling and radiant eyes. She’s dozing in the sun now, sprawled on the couch after staying up last night to warn the coyotes away. Pip, my sweet and gentle Pippy Tay, is old now, almost deaf and often wobbly. She follows me everywhere, refusing to be left alone, even for a minute. She’s lying beside me now, just a few feet away. I feel a desire to ease her remaining days that is so strong it makes my heart expand just writing about it.
And Lassie? Oh, Lassie. I named her after the famous Lassie, the imaginary dog everyone wants but rarely gets, who seems to live and breathe just to make you happy. Lassie is creamery butter, sweet and willing and more pure and true than any human deserves. Like her father, Lassie adores me, pure and simple. If Jim and I move in different directions on the farm, Lassie won’t follow him. She stays with me. If a veterinary technician takes her by the leash and pulls her away for medical tests, she’s too polite to protest, but her head will turn to me, her eyes pleading. As I look at her face, I think of what Alex the talking parrot said to his friend Irene when she had to leave him at a veterinary clinic. “Come here. I love you. I’m sorry. Wanna go back.” When I leave Lassie, I have to turn away, walk to the car, put my head down on the steering wheel, breathe a few gulping breaths before I can drive away.
I am not alone in this love for my dogs; I am not neurotic, and I am not crazy. Millions of healthy people love their dogs so profoundly they are willing to risk their lives to save them. I don’t want to romanticize our relationship with dogs—as someone who has worked with canine aggression for seventeen years, I know the dark side of human-dog interactions as well as anyone. It’s not all pretty, as intense, emotional relationships rarely are. We can’t pretend that fear and anger, felt and expressed by members of both species, don’t cause terrible and sometimes long-lasting harm to both people and dogs. Yet it’s the emotion of joy that binds us; a shared happiness that catches us up in giddy, joyful waves, floats us through life together, grinning and amazed at the miracle of our love.
Last night Lassie and I played her favorite game together. Over and over, I tossed her favorite toy across the rug. Each time she leapt after it, then came back to me with her face glowing, her eyes soft and luminous. Her neat little body seemed unable to contain feelings of joy and her love of play. At some point in the middle of our game, I realized I was beaming, a huge smile plastered across my face. For that moment, I was truly and completely happy.
In some ways, it’s really that simple, isn’t it? At their best, that is what dogs do; they make us happy. At our best, we make them happy too. That can only be true because we share so very much with them, and the foundation of what we share is our emotions. Dogs are emotions—living breathing embodiments of fear and anger and joy, emotions we can read on their faces as well as any language.
This emotional connection between our dogs and us isn’t a trivial one. We humans may be brilliant and we may be special, but we are still connected to the rest of life. No one reminds us of that better than our dogs. Perhaps the human condition will always include attempts to remind ourselves that we are separate from the rest of the natural world. We are separate from other animals; it’s undeniably true. But while acknowledging that, we must acknowledge another truth, the truth that we are also the same. That is what dogs and their emotions give us—a connection. A connection to life on earth, to all that binds us and cradles us, lest we begin to feel too alone. Dogs are our bridge– our connection to who we really are, and perhaps most tellingly, who we want to be.
We call them home to us, as if calling for home itself. That’ll do, dogs. Come home to us now, where you belong. Your work is here, in our homes, in our hearts, forever. That’ll do.
If you read through this, thanks for going on that ride for me. Amazing how much love can heal. Tell us about how a dog, or dogs, have loved you, how you have loved them. Please end by passing around tissues.
Laughter, along with love, is the best medicine: I rarely check on my books on Amazon, but in searching around on my blog for topics on “love for dogs,” The Other End of the Leash came up, along with a listing of recent Amazon reviews. Here’s one that made me laugh out loud:
I’m just as vulnerable to criticism as the next person, but this one was so over the top I couldn’t do anything but laugh. No need to defend the book if you read it and liked it, just laugh along with me at the amusing aspects of our big, brazen brains. There is always, always, something to laugh about.
MEANWHILE, down on the farm: Yesterday I had my first (very short) walk off the farm, on a perfect fall day. What a joy. Skip was full of himself and wanted to play with Maggie, who wasn’t done sniffing her way down the trail yet.
Skip finally settled with just looking handsome.
I asked Jim to stop on our way home so I could get a shot of these cows, all lying down under a beautiful sky. As soon as I got out of the car, this happened. Lordy, I love cows. They are so curious. So much for the shot of contented cows lying down under a gorgeous sky.
Here they are about two minutes later, wondering who that handsome man is sitting in the car. Thank you girls, it was nice to meet you.
When we got home the dogs got new antlers to chew on from Duluth Trading Company in Mt. Horeb, those ridiculously expensive chew toys my dogs run hot and cold about. I needed some retail therapy, which works for dog toys better than clothes, right?
Last question for you: Do I have enough flannel shirts?
Answer that, and/or something about dogs and love and us and dogs, and we’ll all be happy.
Michelle says
Dogs are good for WHATEVER ails us! I miss my adoring Aussie, but it’s pretty wonderful to have a relationship with a terrier, too. Competed with her at an agility trial yesterday, and loved watching all the different dogs and their relationships with their people.
Frances says
Thank you – that was exactly what I needed to read this evening. Sometimes it is enough to be reminded that there is still love, still kindness, and still laughter to share.
I hope your recovery is swift and uncomplicated and filled with many moments of pure happiness.
Trisha says
Thank YOU Frances, for the reinforcement. Yes, yes, so much suffering, so critical to remember how much love and good there is in the world.
lak says
Ya know with everything going on in the world, wars, political climate, and in my own home, asking for a hospice referral for my mother, it could be easy to get mired down in the mud. But I woke up this morning and my dog and I were sleeping back to back, each with our own pillow. She is not allowed to do this but sleeps at the end of the bed usually. Today I needed that comfort and support and she gave it! I am truly grateful and love this dog like crazy, and she might feel the same about me! It was beautiful here in MI and I enjoyed the day despite all that is happening. Hope you continue to feel better!
Kat says
Wishing you a speedy recovery with no bumps in the road. My dogs are the biggest reason I’m relatively sane these days. D’Artagnan gets me out a few times a week to do some good in the world. We were visiting a health and rehab facility today. One resident with severely limited mobility was in bed, D’Artagnan stretched his neck as far as he could across the bed (of course the resident was on the opposite side where there was no room for D’Art to stand) and the resident strained to reach him. Watching the smile bloom on their face when they made contact lifted my heart. Or visiting the couple where she kept encouraging him to touch the dog and see how soft he is and he reached out and put his hand on D’Art’s ruff and said “Oh, wow!” It makes me smile just writing about it. Years ago on a whim I bought a boots with a Great Pyrenees on them. I wore them today and a person was so enchanted that they had to go get their camera and then track me down to get a picture of the boots. I can’t do much about the world or our country or any of the other big things that hurt so much but today we made a little corner of the world a better place. I love my big floof so much.
Then there’s Falkor Bash who has started a new thing lately. He still gives me a friendly bash when we’ve been apart for even a few seconds but lately he stokes my leg with his paw. I wonder if he’s trying to pet me the way I pet him. It’s different than a bash, it’s soft, and it’s repeated many times in a row. You pet me I’ll pet you? I’m not sure what he intends but it comes across as charming and affectionate and it makes me love him all the more.
Melanie Hawkes says
I, like Frances, needed this tonight. I have been feeling unloved after a guy I liked has been ghosting me, and a few other stressful things going on. My dog Upton has not been much comfort. He won’t even sleep in my bed with me! But he did lick my tears off my face last week. Our relationship is more like a married couple: can’t live with him and can’t live without him! He’ll be 10 in January and he’s slowing down already. It will be hard to see him go.
This has been a good reminder that there are always people worse off, and be grateful for what I have in front of me.
Best wishes for a speedy recovery. Love the cow photos and that review! Lol.
Kendra McMurtry says
Trisha, I just returned home from burying my 96 year old mother, who had dementia, and to see and pet and love on my dogs was the best healing balm I could have had. For The Love of a Dog is my favorite book of yours and I have read and reread the excerpt you posted many, many times. It always brings tears to my eyes but also makes my heart swell with gratitude for all of the canine friends I have known and have now. My life would be so incomplete without them. Discovering you, your blog, and your books has honestly changed my life and enhanced my relationships with my dogs. Thank you. Please take care and heal soon.
Helen says
Firstly, yes. I’m not sure they should look so neat n’ ironed though. (If they’re not ironed how can I get my shirts to look so good?)
Secondly, I read “The Other End Of The Leash” about 8 years ago and LOVED it, especially the story about being rescued from the goat (?)bailing you up in a stall in the barn, and, of course, photos.
Thirdly, I really want to read “For The Love Of A Dog” but I think I’d cry too much. (So apologies.) I’m far too sensitive; I cried as I read the Afterward.
Finally, I often wonder if I have a favourite among my three dogs and realise your description sums it up perfectly: I love them all differently.
And they express their love differently, ranging from needing/full body contact pats snd love to no-longer-wanting-to-sit-on-my-lap, to eliciting playing and laughing with me with short snuffy, huffy little exclamations from a smiley mouth.
Wishing you fast healing and recuperating.
Janine Warner says
Oh Patricia, I love reading your blogs and hearing about your Border Collies. We lost our last BC 2 years ago and I still miss him tremendously. His name was Kip. He was an odd pup but so loyal to my husband and me.
I too just had eyelid surgery (tendons lifted so I could see better) and I’m recovering well. Healing ❤️🩹 to you during this journey.
Betsy says
Best wishes for a full and speedy recovery! The world does seem to be in a dark and dangerous time. It needs all the love and civility we can muster. When the state of the world gets too depressing there’s nothing like a playground romp with my 10 month old Great Dane to lighten the day. Pure unbridled joy as he chases after toys and blowing leaves. It’s his first autumn so he’s never seen blowing leaves before! He runs and leaps just for the joy of it, throwing in some Scooby Do antics along the way. Who can keep a straight face! At the end of each play session our bond seems stronger.
Regarding The Other End of the Leash — after I finished reading it, I used it as a reference in every puppy prekindergarten class I taught. What fun to see all the light bulb moments as the new pet parents learned to see the world through the eyes of their puppy! I also used it as required reading for a group of young people who were going to be working at a dog daycare. One young man decided to become a vet after his training. He’s almost finished vet school now and he says he decided to be a vet because of what he learned from the book and from me. That’s validation enough for me!
Anne says
I’m writing this with tears in my eyes but also surrounded by three Aussies who help me get through every day. I had a very difficult day at work yesterday. I work at a vet clinic. There was a dog that had to be put down and her eyes are still haunting me. I needed to go home and sit under a pile of my own dogs to feel better.
My dogs are so tuned in to me that Qwill will be lying down with her eyes closed, her back to me, and just the sound of my changing in breathing, or a crack of a smile, or staring at her too long will make her tail start to wiggle. If I make any larger noise she leaps up to see if she can get petted.
This is a crazy love. I was sitting in the bathroom the other day and I thought to myself “Who else in the world would lie on the bathmat and look at me right now like I’m the god of the universe? Just a dog. Who am I to deserve such adoration? Just a dog owner. They love me when I don’t have any food for them. They obey me when all their instincts are telling them they need to run after the sheep. There’s no other animal that can do what they do.
Kamila says
The article was like chicken soup for the soul. I share my life with a beautiful standard poodle Monty, who has been given a rough start in life, resulting in severe reactivity etc. During his first year with us, we didn’t help much either. Oh how I wish I’ve discovered you and Jean Donaldson at the start of our journey, but now I know better I continue to do better. Sharing my life with Monty makes me such a better person. He teaches me patience, kindness, putting myself in someone else’s shoes and fun. For me there is nothing better than seeing him running around, digging, barking etc. I love when we get the opportunity for Monty to be truly dog, whether that’s chasing the cat (they run alongside each other, our teenage resident hooligan cat loves this game), learning tricks with me or us just spending time together. I cried first time Monty growled when somebody was annoying and during a play, as for me it meant he is getting comfortable expressing his feelings. I understand that reactive aggressive dogs are not for everyone, but I’ve never learned so much about dogs and their behavior until I had Monty. My dream is provide each animal I’ve with an environment where can they be as much themselves as possible. Because the joy I get from watching them being happy is the best feeling in the world.
Shirley A Baumann says
I miss having dogs in my life and home. It’s not the right thing for us or them just now. However, I get my canine therapy through volunteering with a dog rescue.
Jen Smith says
Like Kat, when I have one that will be a good fit, I try to do some good in the world with my dogs, knowing the ways they can bring joy. I’m anxiously reading about world events and waiting for the paperwork to be approved on my 3rd Therapy Dog. Today, I’ll share a little about my first. Ringo was born an old soul. As a puppy he never chewed anything he shouldn’t except one old tennis shoe of mine. He never heard the “wait them out and they’ll settle” rule about crates as he was indignant that any human would put him in a crate and (he was right because he followed the rules so well). After 2 weeks of screaming all night he got his way (at 12 weeks old). Exhausted, we plopped him down on our bed, he curled around my head and slept that way for 11 years. Never an accident. The funny thing about Ringo was that he just got life. He knew when to play, when to be quiet, and when to connect. As a therapy dog, my favorite story of him was with a non verbal gentleman who generally spent his time in his bed at the nursing home staring off into space not connecting with the staff or other residents. His eyes would light up when he saw Ringo. We’d place Ringo on his bed and he’d make these delighted noises and look at everyone excitedly as Ring gently laid there for pets. That’s the love that’s magical.
Molly Purrington says
Oh my, this came at the perfect time. I lost my Aussie, Chia, a couple of weeks ago. She was an extraordinary therapy dog. For several years, we went into a local children’s hospital to visit sick kids and their families. We would walk into room after room, each filled with chaos and stress in order to offer solace. Chia knew, each time, who in the room needed her most. And doctors and nurses would also seek her out to relieve their stress.
We also went to local vaccination clinics to help kids when they were scared about receiving COVID shots.
We had to be the strongest team. So the depth
of my love for her is in direct proportion to our work together. I have never felt this kind of grief for a dog – but, what a gift I was given to work with her and to be part of her team! So, while this is always hard, my life was enriched by her intentional generosity.
Tracie Strous says
I love how you can put into words all that I feel because of my dog.
Marlene Kominiarek says
Awww…..this was so wonderful to read….I have been blessed with a beautiful Aussie girl that came into my life and rescued me at one of the lowest points in my life. She has been right by my side everyday and has brought me unconditional love and plenty of smiles and healed me in every way.
I believe she was placed in my life for a purpose and at a time I needed her before I even knew it.
Hoping you recovery is quick and that all your pups continue to bring us all joy!
Carole says
Thank you for this. It made me weep and made me remember all the dogs I’ve had the pleasure to share my life with. My incredible Great Dane, Sabrina, has been gone for decades and I still miss her. There have been so many who made my sometimes rough days better just by being there. Ripley, a silly SO smart Rottie; Wyatt, another Rottie who was so empathic that he stood by a friend who was losing her husband, willing to sit for hours with his head resting on her knee, offering silent comfort; Connor, a Great Pyr, who visited nursing homes and schools, patiently teaching everyone that big dogs were nothing to fear; and Champ, a Cocker Spaniel, who was my constant devoted shadow when I was a child. I live with three dogs now, every one of them special in some way, but it’s Brody, a Rottie/Saint mix who holds the major piece of my heart. He will be ten years old soon and I dread the day he won’t be here with me. He has barely let me out of his sight since he was a puppy. The loss of a dog always breaks our hearts, but there are some who leave a gaping hole that feels like it will never heal. (Thanks again, and I wish you a speedy recovery.)
LisaW says
Congrats on your brief off-leash excursion, and I’m sending healing salty sea waves to you.
I lost my sister suddenly and unexpectedly this past July and my mom a month later (just shy of her 100th birthday). I’ve cried every day for four months, and it’s very much like losing a dog. The grief is deep, and the undercurrent is constant. The emotion pushes through at expected and unexpected times. The entire world looks, feels, sounds, and smells differently. Just as it did with every dog that passed.
After each one of our dogs died, I would still hear their collar jingle or their early morning howl to go outside to find out what happened during the night or their grinning snicker (we did have a dog that laughed out loud a lot). Thanks to Phoebe, I’ll never look at a cottonwood seed floating to the ground in the same way. And I still have the ungranted wish to smell what my dog smells if only–and only–for a few minutes.
Olive used to get very worried when I cried–she would whine and pace around and come to see if she could get me to stop. Now, she stays close, snuggles in, and gently snores. She is a constant reminder of courage and honesty and perseverance. She helps me keep my heart intact.
And, just as with my dogs, I am grieving my family in very different ways and for very different reasons. The treasures are the memories, stories, what our lives were like together and apart, what we did for each other and ourselves, and what we truly meant to each other. It’s remarkably one story of many, many lives. It’s love, grief, gratitiude, and emotions so deep you need a fathometer (literally and figuratively).
It’s six words:
Life Loves
Stretch Unbroken
Tales Curled
Jan says
I’m reading this while lying in bed. One dog’s head is resting on my arm, another is curled up next to my hip and the third is at my feet. Enjoying the cuddle time before we start our day.
Donna Elliott says
For the Love of a Dog was one of the best books I have ever read. I have loved all of your books. You are a wonderful author. Heal well .
Barb Stanek says
I remember reading that passage from the book I own. Such depth. Every time I have an animal say to me, “Don’t go.” my heart breaks a little.
My girl dog Starshine brings the closest connection. I have never had a dog that seems to read my thoughts. Surprizingly, I seem to read hers. A bit scary, but exhilarating. I have no need to look for her. She is beside me.
She can be a bossy girl; I suspect she would say that she is the reflection in my mirror.
More than with any of my other dogs, I remind myself often to savor our living moments together. While I’m sure that we will be together after we pass, this moment of physical togetherness is worth deep breaths of a celebration and gratitude, my fingers buried in her warm, deep fur.
I’m glad that you’re on the mend, Trish. Sending all positive, healing energy.
Florence Szabo says
All good wishes that you’re back to baseline ASAP. Until that time,
your precious companions will smother you with extra vigilant love. This providential piece comes to us at a time of mourning. I read this comforting balm in tears as we’ve just learned that Paco, our 14 y.o. Chi, has metastatic GI cancer. The holes in our hearts are fresh, painful wounds as we prepare to see him at rest. Because we love him so, we will not watch him suffer.
As a retired Behavioral Special Educator and animal lover, I have long cherished your work for your Behavioral DVM expertise, shared with profound insight into dogs and humans and reverence for the world we all live in. Your eloquent expression, wrapped in delicious humor is a genuine gift to us all (except maybe the outlier Amazon reviewer… Life IS a Bell Curve.) It’s pure grace that your wise, soulful post on dogs and love arrived as we say goodbye to our fiercely devoted, quirky, often cranky but truly cherished Paco. I’m sharing this with family, certain that we’ll reread it many times. It comforts us that Paco’s love will live in our hearts forever. Thank you for being you. You too live in our hearts!
Judith Villa says
Thank you for starting my day in such a wonderful way. My wonderful dog Conlan and I are on our way out to feed the horses. Well, I do the feeding and he does the barking. Thank you for understanding both dogs and humans and showing us so many possibilities for deepening our relationships.
Sue Jaskulske says
Thank you for this article, still crying….missing my heart dog, Baxter a Pembroke Corgi. We had to say goodbye 18 months ago when the tongue cancer took his quality of life. He was 13 years old and we had him since he was a puppy. We had many adventures through those years but what I miss the most is the emotional connection we had. He always knew my mood and adjusted his interaction based on what I needed.
Taking him to the vet for his last visit was so heart wrenching because he knew, he started shaking and he never did that when visiting the vet. He most certainly read my emotions and knew it was goodbye.
We are on a waiting list for our next corgi and it will be so nice to have a dog in the house again. I started reading your books to prepare myself and I am really enjoying them, Puppy Primer and The Other End of the Leash are just a joy to read.
I am nervous that I won’t bond with a new dog but I think I need to understand that it might just look different than what I had with Baxter.
I also enjoyed our great Wisconsin weather yesterday, we are in the Town of Rome just north west of you. Those types of days bring back great memories of walks through the woods and I felt Baxter was with me.
Sending healing thoughts your way.
Trisha says
So I said “pass the tissues” and then am surprised at my eyes flowing as I read your comments? What a village we are, so many special people, and beautiful writers at that. I would like to answer every comment, and will begin to attempt to do so. Forgive me if I start flagging, and know that each and every comment has made my heart soften in the best of all possible ways.
Trisha says
lak: I’m sure she does–feel the same way about you. I have no question that a second life as one of your dogs would be a wonderful one.
Trisha says
Kat: Oh D’Art, how I adore you, and we’ve never even met. What a blessing to so many. And Falkor Bash’s gentle pawing at your leg? Pretty sure he’s not testing you for receptivity in a heat cycle (common in male dogs)! But, seriously could it be a sign of affection?
Trisha says
Melanie: Damn your ghosting, full speed ahead. Glad you love the cow photos, I soooo love cows!
Trisha says
Kendra: Oh, oh, I am so sorry. Not just for your mother’s death, but for what you and she have no doubt gone through. Sending love and gratitude.
Sheri Cardo says
This struck a chord in me. I always say, it isn’t that dogs love us unconditionally — because we are too flawed and they are too smart. Their enormous gift is allowing us to love them unconditionally. I believe that.
Trisha says
Helen: My flannel shirts look “neat and ironed?” Ironed…what is that? Should I be adding vitamin and mineral supplements to my clothes? I just wash and dry them, hang them up. Hey, it’s flannel, easy care, right, part of why I love it? (And is soft and cozy and sort of furry?) Re “For the Love:” I don’t think you’ll cry that much, just in case you are tempted to try. I suspect part of why the book didn’t do so well is because I spend time early in the book talking about the brain and the biology of emotions. In hindsight, I should have moved that chapter toward the end, maybe lightened it up? Not the best title either…this book writing/publishing stuff is tricky. Speaking of writing: “… short, snuffy, huffy, little exclamations…” is am brilliant descriptor. “Snuffy” — a new word and deservedly so — is perfect!
Trisha says
Here’s to Kip, Janine, sorry you miss him but so glad you had him when you did. Good luck healing! I may need the same surgery, upper eye lid now drooping like a flag on a calm day, but I’m concerned about more anesthesia. We do not get along.
Trisha says
Betsy: I wish the blog allowed people to send videos! I want a dose of your teenage Dane chasing leaves. But just the image makes me smile. And congratulations on inspiring your young man to become a vet; I’m sure you deserve the majority of the credit!
Trisha says
Anne: I’m so sorry about your day; putting down dogs with eyes that contain multitudes must be harder than one can say. I give you so much credit for the work you do, what would we do without people like you? I’m so glad you are surrounded by “crazy love.” And I suspect it is well deserved.
Trisha says
Kamila: Monty is one lucky boy. Think of all you have given him. I read an article a while ago that argued we should stop having companion dogs, that we cause too much pain and suffering. And then I think about dogs like Monty, who, by a miracle of biology, form profound bonds with members of another species; bonds that enrich their lives and in ways impossible to replicate with us. Lucky, lucky Monty.
Trisha says
Shirley A. B: Kudos to you for knowing that it’s not best of a dog for you to have on now, and voluntering in a dog rescue. We are all so grateful!
Trisha says
Jen Smith: Oh Ringo, what a one in a million dog you describe. Magical, yes. Made my heart all gooey just reading about him.
Trisha says
Molly P: Oh oh oh. I am so sorry about your loss of Chia. She sounded extraordinary, that miracle dog who provides solace to exactly who needs it most. Take care of yourself in your grief; grief does crazy things to your brain, treats it like a major injury, so be gentle and extra kind to yourself. Sending cyber hugs.
Trisha says
Tracie S: Oh, thanks! I love playing with words. Just cross your paws that the words in my novel impress my agent! I’m waiting to hear back about draft #2.
Trisha says
Marlene K: Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoyed the passage. Sounds like your beautiful Aussie girl is one very special dog.
Trisha says
Carole: So many dogs, so many special friends, yes? I feel the same way–how could I be so lucky to have Willie and Cool Hand Luke and Lassie and Pip and Bo Peep and Tootsie . . . But yes, some are more special than others. Here’s to many more years with Brody, he sounds like a dream dog.
Trisha says
LisaW: Leave it to you to blow me away with your six words. Damn, an arrow right to my heart. I am so so so sorry about your losses, so important, so close together. My own sister’s death gutted me for awhile, siblings can be such a huge loss. And you’ve lost both mother and sister, too much. Too much. You are such a beautiful writer, thank you for sharing your stories with us. And me too–I soooo want to smell what my dogs smell!!!
Trisha says
Sheri: Great point about us loving dogs unconditionally. I admit to sometimes feeling some “conditions,” for example, when Skip repeats his “Suicide by Fence” behavior, but there is nothing either Skip or Maggie could do that would take away from how much I adore them.
Rondi says
I am so jealous of your flannel shirt collection! I love flannel…warm and cozy like a hug and the variety and subtlety of the plaids are just delicious. Thank you for this post (sounds like we all needed it) and get well soon!
Alex says
Thank you, Trisha, your writing is so beautiful and makes me cry, with grief and joy and the fullness of life.
My dog Fennel is one of the great love affairs of my life and my tether to the earth and the potential infinite joy of each moment. There’s been so much that has happened in his 4.5 years of life…the pandemic, the national elections, the protests, the wars, and then personally amazing and incredibly demanding career growth, marriage, house and diy house renovations, two very difficult pregnancies, and Fennel himself got aggressive cancer at just a year old. I nursed him through two surgeries and six rounds of chemo (the side effects were awful) and against all odds he was cured and has thrived. Through all these storms and wild screaming highs and lows when I look at him there’s this sizzling connection and the rest of the world fades away and the seconds stretch out to quiet infinity. I have never been Too Much for him. His capacity for absorbing love is boundless and so beautifully special. And I’m so aware with him that there is no later. For him, this is the prime of his life and the most joyful part. Having him bury his head in my chest for a hug or grin up at me with his entire body when we hike through fall leaves or give a proud rowf when he figures something out during a shaping game or the thumping of his tail when we wake up every morning and steal quiet moments of cuddling before the chaos of the day starts means everything to him, and me. I can’t stop wars or halt climate change in its tracks but I can give Fennel my full attention multiple times every day and fill him up with joy and love. And isn’t that what matters? To live joyfully and loved? He matters. Today matters. I have loved this dog and he has loved me and I’m so glad we are both Here.
Trisha says
Alex: Beautiful, beautiful. Thank you for contributing.
Trisha says
Rondi: Another flannel lover! Yay!
Kathy Griffin says
Today is 16 years since my Max, my heart dog, my love died. I understand all your feelings. Thank you for posting that passage. Today I am with Babette knowing that she is growing old and will be passing also.
And I love ALL your books and I love your weekly newsletters!!!
Sorry to hear about your CFS and POTS. That just sucks.
Kerry says
I didn’t get my first dog until I was 45 (28 years ago). I don’t know how I lived all those years without one. Getting a dog changed my life for the better, and reading your books changed how I view and relate to my dogs! I have read all your books and follow your blog . . . thanks you for being such an inspiration!
Bobbie says
I loved your column today. We love all our dogs, but we love the special ways that they individually have. And you brought this out so well in this piece.
Judi Haft says
What a great read. I needed something positive and uplifting during these crazy times. I love all my dogs (and cats) in different ways. They are all special.
Gayla says
What a beautiful post and replies!
Maybe there really are constant, conflicting forces of good and evil – love and hate. I want to believe that every random act of kindness makes a tiny but tangible difference in the balance and that choosing to consciously be more loving in thought and deed, is somehow helping the world at large.
The reviewer reminds me of that old saying, “It takes all kinds to fill up the freeway.”
Barbara says
This post got me thinking about life with animals. I was never allowed to have a cat or dog growing up. I had a Guinea pig and some turtles but it’s not quite the same. I was a relative newcomer to pet ownership when I got a cat in my late twenties. I thought she was the best! She’d come when called (most of the time), greet me at the door and sinuously wind around my legs purring like crazy. She lived to be 19 years old. After marriage and kids came my first dog. He was beautiful but standoffish and seemed to prefer my husband over everyone else. I couldn’t connect with him. Our second dog was completely different. He and I bonded quickly and it’s been a 15 year love affair ever since we brought him home. He used to follow me around the house and wait by the door til I came home. Now he sometimes has trouble finding me. He’s deaf and has a cataract in each eye – two milky opals that cloud his vision. In my eyes he is a gem and I love him! (I know that probably sounds corny but I don’t care). He still gets around and functions normally but his time is getting shorter. Every day is precious.
My cat was wonderful but dogs are in a class by themselves.
My philosophy is: If you want a quiet independent roommate, get a cat. If you’d rather have a loyal friend for life, get a dog.
Lynda says
Read it all. Cried through the whole thing…for you, me and everyone who has walked this road.
Many years ago had a Newf, Ben. Loved his family but he and I were soulmates. I had successfull surgery years after he passed but my blood pressure was quite low and I was in and out of consciousness. And then Ben and came and sat next to me. Blood pressure went up to normal. Nurse happily surprised. Have had Newfs over 50 years now. All special and all loved but Ben still my heart dog.
Kay Weber says
I remember all your previous dogs mentioned here! They were wonderful dogs, as you know!
You likely won’t remember my dog that came with me – to learn how to be ‘better’ dog – with the help of Luke and Pip. He was my chocolate lab named Baker. He was a good dog.
I’m the one who wrote my thesis on coat color. That was fun!
Thanks for your wisdom.
Ellyn Kearney says
Thanks again Trisha for another amazing article! The love between dogs and people has recently cost me a lot both financially and emotionally. I have had three amazing Labrador Retriever service dogs. Each of them was trained by a different person because the previous trainer had either passed away or retired. When I went back to the last trainer I had, I contracted for him to train me another service dog, although I wanted something smaller than a Lab because I am getting older and Labradors are quite heavy when they jump on you! Since the trainer moved to a different state, I allowed him to choose the dog for me, since I believed he understood my needs having trained one of my serviced dogs before. Well, his first pick was a Belgian Malinois. What an amazingly gorgeous dog that I fell in love with immediately! I was told that this dog had flunked out of protection training because he “didn’t like to bite.” What was more true would be to say he didn’t like to bite for no reason. When Rafe came to me, he found every reason under the sun that I needed protection and attacked several people. Two people went to the hospital within a week and my apartment complex sent me a letter that I had to get rid of him. Since then, I have learned that legally, a service dog is not allowed to also be trained in protection. I understand why many people with disabilities might want a dog trained in protection, however, the training they receive is really not conducive to also being a service dog. So my baby had to go back to the trainer and he gave me a Golden Retriever to keep for a couple of months and see if we bonded. If so, then he would train the retriever in the tasks that I require. During those two months I took Milo everywhere with me: the doctor’s office, the grocery store, the Metro, friend’s houses, etc. He was nothing short of beautiful perfection. Then I sent him back to the trainer to learn how to retrieve and open doors, as well as a few other tasks. When he came back, he came back very aggressive and he had been abused. I can’t take him anywhere with me. The trainer blames it on me even though nothing has changed in my lifestyle and I treat him exactly the way I treated every other dog I’ve ever owned and I’ve never owned an aggressive dog. I love this dog so much and want him to have the best life he can have. It kills me to think of rehoming him but I can’t bring him with me anywhere and he hates to be left alone. When you love an animal you do what’s best for the animal, not just what’s best for yourself. I hired a specialist in dog aggression and after the first two sessions, where we did not confront the aggression, he quit. I am at a loss as to what to do with my beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and sweet but dangerous Golden Retriever.
Kathy Flake says
I too love cows, and love to photograph them. (My kitchen is decorated with cow paintings!) When I first moved to England, I lived next door to cows, and I was in heaven. (And incredibly sad when their babies all disappeared in November.) I started Friday Cow Blogging, which I no longer do since I moved away from my cow friends. Loved loved loved this passage about your love for your Luke, Lassie, Tulip, and Pip. All my dogs still have a place in my heart, and I can remember them with love, and not quite so much longing anymore. That sharp pain when they go eases, eventually.
Betsy says
Love this, Trisha. Feel better soon!!! I have almost all of your books. There is no such thing as having too many flannel shirts!
Ann W. Firestone says
I loved re-reading this bit from For The Love of a Dog. I’m a long-time fan of all of your books, beginning when I met you at the first APDT conference many years ago!
I, like you and so many others am having a hard time navigating the current affairs of the world. I can’t imagine doing so without the support of my five dogs. (four windsprites and a long-haired GSD pup) Just the feel of a windsprite pressing against my side as I type is such a comfort.
I hope your recovery goes quickly and uneventfully. Keep up your great writing. It’s a balm.
Amy says
Four-legged-love reading is exactly what I needed this afternoon. Thank you! The cows with sky pics literally caught my breath, and the ‘shades of flannels’ made me grin. Healing wishes for you 😉
Debby Gray says
Trisha I hope your recovery is swift!
My Monty seems to be good for whatever ails me.
Wish I could always find ways to help him with his anxieties…so many sounds to worry about.
Laura says
Well, this was so great to read. Tricia, I hope you continue to heal, and I love all the comments so far. All of you are so great to read about, and whenever I read these comments, I really feel like I’m with a bunch of great friends.
I’m sorry I haven’t been around as regularly as I used to, but I’m still waiting on a guide dog, and I’m ready.
November is hard, and in a couple of weeks, it’ll be 3 years since I lost my Seamus. As in the passage from your book, I’m fine most of the time, but there are still days, moments, when I’m right back there on the day he died, and I can’t breathe because my heart hurts so much. But, I’m ready for a new dog. In my mind, I’ve been ready for a long time, and I’m struggling mightily to be patient with the two schools I’ve applied successfully to, but this past Summer, my heart told me I was ready.
A long-time friend and fellow guide dog user came to visit me. She of course brought along her sweet, happy golden retriever, Phoenix. She was telling me a story about how there was a person who Phoenix didn’t exactly get along with, and to demonstrate her dislike of this person, she simply wouldn’t walk with them to get some water.
I asked if Phee wanted any water as this was July and she was panting, despite being in an air conditioned house. My friend said I could certainly get her some water.
I picked up the leash and asked Phee to heel. Oh, I can’t tell you how good it felt to have a leash in my hand. Phoenix fell into heel easily, and I lead her into the kitchen for some water. As I prepped the bowl for her, I talked to her the entire time.
Her tail swished back and forth, and she just stared up at me. I could feel that happy, glowing love a golden seems to radiate out whenever they look up at you, and as I put the bowl down and she began to willingly drink, my heart just flooded with contentment.
I hadn’t felt that way since my Shamy died. I hadn’t felt that whole. I knew then, that I was really ready, and that I wanted another dog beside me. There isn’t anything I can ever do to bring my boy back, but that’s ok, and I know I’ll love who ever comes along.
Now, the desire for another guide dog is transforming into need. We’re required to be on campus again two days a week, and I realized, just this past week, that I haven’t been on campus without a dog in 21 years. I confess, it’s scary. I can travel independently just fine, but do I like it? No!
I was given the offer of a class date this past Spring, and if the class hadn’t been suddenly canceled, I would’ve turned the dog down anyway, because they had a female available, and I really want a male. I thought really hard about that decision before I made it, but it was the right one. I love my boys, and I don’t know why I seem to work better with them. Don’t get me wrong, I think female dogs are perfectly nice, but I just want my boy dog. Perhaps this is a good blog entry for discussion? Do people have a sex preference when it comes to their dogs?
I beat myself up a lot with this decision, but I had a lot of support to help me through that, especially from guide dog instructors. They all said I wasn’t a “bad” handler for wanting a male, and that they would find me a good dog soon. So… after this novel, I’d appreciate, thoughts, prayers, anything that would help my new dog come into my life.
I miss walking with my dogs. I miss working with them. I miss caring for them, and man, do I miss the feel of a warm, heavy head on my foot because the dog has curled up under my desk at work. I miss that contented sigh from him, when his head is on my foot, and I know how happy we are together.
I hope everyone who can, will hug their dogs super tight from me, and I’m so glad people like all of you, but especially Tricia, exist here in this time, so that we can all get the love we need.
Suzanne Clothier says
Here’s to quick healing and a return of energy. Words – well, I once asked a friend for a “quick-don’t-die-pill” meaning Benadryl! As for the Amazon review I heard another author tell how he learned to put it in context. Someone gave him a one-star review, rather nasty, and he was hurt. But then he noticed that the same reviewer had many other reviews of products, so he wondered: what would be a 4 or 5 star review from that person? Maybe it was just a matter of writing style or subject? Turns out what got a 5 star review as “just perfect! utterly amazing!” was a 3 tiered purple polka dotted cupcake tower. That made me laugh, and put things in a useful perspective. Heal, rest, laugh, and rejoice in the relationships with animals and Nature that keep us sane.
Karie says
Please don’t worry about the future! Things are not what they seem right now, we are watching a movie and The Best is Yet to Come!!! NCSWIC
Trisha says
Dear, dearest Laura: So good to hear from you and to let us go on your journey with you. I can’t believe it’s been that long since you lost Seamus. I’m sure I’m not alone in waiting to hear about your new dog with baited breath, all paws are crossed. And I love your suggestion about sex preferences for dogs. I love both my males and females, but do think about them very, very differently. I love that Skip is such a guy, and Maggie is so . . . not. Anthropomorphizing? I’m sure to some extent, but still. Testosterone is still a thing, and not just in humans. I’m going to jump on this for the next blog topic!
Laura says
Tricia,
I am such a fan girl right now! I am absolutely geeking out that one of my ideas made it into a blog! Awesome sauce!
I think what I’ve noticed about males, and the thing I think I like, is that they definitely are mamas boys. They’re sweet and obedient, and every female that I’ve worked with is, willful for me? They can just be stubborn in a way I don’t think I quite understand. But I also have friends who are Guide Dog users who love this trait and will only take a female dog.
I don’t begrudge anybody the choice they make for a dog. So this will be a really exciting topic.
In the meantime, I hope you can feel better soon. I also know what it’s like now to live with a chronic illness. My asthma has become very severe over the past year and a half, so I have to get energy when I can, and where I can. Fortunately, both schools have said that this will not get in the way of me getting a new dog. I just keep walking my routes, and exercising when I can. I just hope that I can find out what’s going on soon, so I don’t have to take as much steroids as I am right now. Anyway, feel better, and pet both of those wonderful dogs! 🦮🐾
Hali Chambers says
No need to reply! I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your books and your blog. I would write more, but I too have the mental acuity of something from the cabbage family! <3
Gudrun D. Wicart-Loveless says
I so appreciate your blogs. I read them all. Your writing style is phenomenal.. Entertaining and sometimes sad. But that is OK. Part of life. I also have 2 dogs. One GAMPR (Armenian Wolfdog) my lifestock guardian dog and a pitbull female. She is the most perfect ambassador for her breed. A rescue of course. Get better!! Sending you hugs and prayers for a speedy recovery.
Trisha says
Thank you Gudrun for introducing me to the Armenian Wolfdog! Looks like your flock is well protected.
Nic1 says
Ah Trisha,
As usual, such beautiful words that perfectly express our emotions and our almost primeval connection we have with these incredible beings. I hope you get better soon Trisha and I’m sending you lots of love.
I have many years now to reflect on losing my beloved Lily. I often find myself wondering and reflecting, now I’ve come to terms and accepted my own frailties and some dormant traumas, that part of the reason I was so drawn to her (she was a rescue and cane with a bit of baggage) that she uncannily represented some of my shadow self. The parts of myself I was desperate to hide and afraid to face because of the pain and the work to overcome it. Her behaviour issues – dog reactivity in particular – gave me the perfect excuse to isolate with her and work on her issues while neglecting my own. She was an absolute nightmare and blessing in equal measure but I loved her fiercely and because we worked so hard together she overcame the worst of it. It took years of patience but I was determined not to give up on her. I eventually realised that I could also love my whole self too – warts and all – in equal measure, even the parts I didn’t like where I was still wounded. She gave me the courage to face my fears. What a blessing our dogs can be.
Trisha – your writing and your candour and heartfelt openness has also been a massive contributing factor in healing too. Thank you. ❤️🩹