Willow The Best Dog There Is™ was born 15 years ago today. As she aged, I prayed we would get to spend at least 14 years together, which I admit is a lot to ask of a golden retriever. We got a few days shy of 12.
I love this photo of the two of us. From the moment I first picked her up and snuggled her, the last of her litter, we were best friends. It was love at first sight; I’ll never quite understand why, but my bond with this dog was instant and everlasting.
Red, who took this picture, always joked that when Willow died, she would have to euthanize me, too, because I would be inconsolable. When Willow died on my 68th birthday three years ago, I was almost as lost as she predicted I would be.
Time passes, and the loss becomes not as hard to bear. When you have 12 years of happy memories to draw from, the sorrow is eventually supplanted by the glow of those memories. But on the big days — her birthday, the anniversary of when she came home, the anniversary of her passing — the sense of loss rises to the surface a little bit.
It’s a terrible fact that dogs don’t live very long compared to humans, and so I’ve shared that special love with several four-legged creatures — people who know me from back when will remember Poppins and Tucker especially — but none were as deep and abiding as what I felt for Willow. She was my furry soulmate, the canine love of my life.
Willow’s adopted little sister Dejah, and Dejah’s adopted little sister Summer, are so very special in their own ways, and so I’m not at a loss for doggy love. I’ve been blessed to share my home with canines ever since a whimpering little collie-mix puppy walked up to the door of the Ripon radio station more than 40 years ago — that was Poppins — and I was the only person on staff who could take her. Whatever callous soul dumped that little girl out in the country never knew what they gave up.
My prayer for most people is that they find their equivalent of Willow The Best Dog There Is™ sometime in their lifetime. Those of you who have, you understand. It’s as sweet a feeling as I’ve ever known, and those 12 years were well worth the final heartbreak.
I could probably write about Willow for hours, but Summer is resting her head on my knee and wondering if we’re ever going to turn in for the night. And so we shall.
