Our beloved dog, Duke, got sick the week before our family vacation and, even though we had witnessed his decline for years, it was beyond hard. And when he died at the age of 16 years and one day, we wept more tears and remembered a puppy who ate every shoe in sight; who once, when briefly left alone in the car on a cool autumn day, chewed through every seat belt; a dog who, like every dog you yourself have ever loved, showed us what living and loving with full-on joy and abandon looks like.
Duke came to us the second Saturday of September, 2001. On the morning of September 11 I took him to his first veterinarian appointment and saw the tumbling twin towers on the waiting-area TV. That day was always redeemed a little for us as it was also linked to this slobbery, unwieldy 12-week old bundle of energy and affection who would change our lives for ever, for good.
When we gathered for vacation on Sanibel Island in southwest Florida this past week we told funny, tender stories about Duke, who was named by 
Drew who, at the time, was an avid Duke basketball fan. That Drew would go on to become a Blue Devil-hating UNC Tarheel didn’t diminish one speck of affection for the name of our “Dukie.”
There are so many sentimental cliches about the love of dogs. In my experience all of them are true. But what I couldn’t have known was the grace Duke would show us in death. As we tended to him those last few days, when he already had significant infirmities–total deafness, the worn-out, painful hips that labs are cursed with–he never failed to register somehow, sometimes with the smallest gesture, how thankful he was for our presence, our care.
We buried Duke in the backyard of a house we likely won’t always live in but his body 
will lie here under green grass and white snow, season after season and, while I don’t envision a reunion with Duke in some meadowy heaven, I have the hope that the goodness that was his very being participates somehow in what Dante called “the love that moves the sun and the other stars.” And if I can live with the kind of integrity and fullness of life that was our Duke, and if I can die with the same grace and gratitude, I will have been made more fully human, in no small part, because of this beautiful animal.
Thank you for 16 years of friendship, dearest Duke, faithful companion to Debra, Jim, Drew, and Sean Patrick. You made us laugh. You made us proud. You made us better.
June 25, 2017 at 10:02 pm
Brava, Debra! When my Dad, the Late Dr. Bert Morton, was transitioning to Life Eternal, he saw a long departed and beloved cat Beauregard. So who knows, but your words are gospel gossamer…
June 25, 2017 at 10:15 pm
I like knowing this, Drex. Thanks!
June 27, 2017 at 7:35 am
So sorry to hear about the passing of your dog, Duke. I have a dog, Little Bee, who is now over 11 and I know it will be very difficult when she is not with us anymore. They become such a part of our lives. I’m hoping that the fond memories will supplant the grieving in some good way for you and for me when the time comes.
June 27, 2017 at 9:24 am
Thank you, Carol. Duke was frail for a long time and so we lived with the possibility of his dying for a long time. So I’ve been surprised at how hard the last few days have been. But, yes, absolutely, we have so many good memories of him and are thankful for all the years we had with him. Thanks for telling me about Little Bee. I feel sure your fond memories of her will comfort you enormously when the time comes.