DUKE

Duke was the puppy’s name. He was a lively black lab. My son brought him over for us to see, and we fell in love with the puppy just like that! “What a cutie!” I wrote in my journal, “My son sure loves his puppy, Duke. It’s really great to see. Duke has also warmed up to Oscar (a stray we were loving on). The puppies seem to be companionable—and I like that. It is fun to have puppies around.”

Duke went everywhere with my son. They were like a team, inseparable. My son was always teaching him tricks. Over the years it had always seemed like my oldest son got the short end of the stick. He had such a tender heart. It was good to see him jazzed.

Duke gave him unconditional love. My son’s girlfriend was crazy about Duke as well. She loved dogs and would give him advice on raising Duke. We learned bunches about dogs by osmosis that summer. On occasion, Duke stayed with us on the farm while my son was at work.

But the happiness wasn’t to last.

My son holding his friend’s rambunctious dog. Duke is on the left.

August 14, 2005, Journal entry.

“Tonight Duke died. He was hit by a SUV. The driver came to the house and told me. Seeing Duke’s lifeless form on the berm across the road broke my heart. Telling my son on the phone was difficult. He was surprisingly calm and matter-of-fact. I expected him to be angry or loud. He came right over, didn’t stop to talk, went out to the road to find his friend, Duke.

I went out after he had arrived. I saw him in the distance. He was kneeling by the road lightly touching Duke’s fur. Then he stood up, gathered Duke in his arms and carried him across the road into the orchard a few rows in. I said his name in a muffled sob. We stood apart grieving and sobbing, neither one of us speaking.

I felt angry. It felt like that ugly curse that always seems to happen to us. Nothing ever seems to turn out right for us. Not fair. I hurt for my son, as mother’s do, more than for the dog. He was the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he was with Duke. Just this morning he was showing me his newest trick with Duke. Holding still with a cracker on his nose until my son said, ‘Okay.’ I cried off and on all evening. Sometimes I get so tired of the pain of this old world.

Later his girlfriend came over. Before my son left with her, he came in my room. I had just got off the phone to his sister. I related our conversation. ‘Never thought I’d cry over a dog. Duke seemed like a person’ and so forth. Then we cried again. My son came closer and touched my knee—that touch reached my heart. His younger brother, when he got home, wished he had had a chance to say goodbye to Duke. He went out looking for where Duke was buried so he could say goodbye.

It struck me how significant this is. Another unwanted loss. I’ve been dreading the possibility ever since the ‘boys’ (the dogs) started wandering. My son was always bragging on Duke. I’m going to miss that. Some things in life we just don’t understand. Duke’s death is one of them.”

__________

Pet loss is hard. Bonding with a pet is akin to the unconditional love of a trusted and true friend. Many of us have stories. After Ronald Reagan lost a beloved horse, his daughter Patty, a young girl at the time, said her father was standing by a fence looking out into the distance with a faraway gaze. She was tearful as she stood by him. He said to her, “I’m remembering all the special times we had together.” And that is how it should be.

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