Lessons from the Life & Loss of a Loyal Dog

Early Tuesday morning, we lost our dog Penny. It was a sad and unexpected ending, even though we suspected the end was not far off. She was family. And along the way she left enduring footprints that will never fade from my life’s journey.

Penelope

Sunday December 11, 2011, my wife Kelley, in league with our veterinarian Fred Metzger had found a dog for us. Our first dog Rosey had passed a little less than two years before. But Kelley and Fred knew that given what was going on in my life at that time, we needed a dog. That was 14 years and three months ago.

At that time, I stood amid the most chaotic days I’d ever known. Battles were raging all around.

My father had been unjustly fired in a very public way. I knew that my career might soon be gone too. The media and the public were casting aspersions and questioning the character of many of us. The University was in the hands of some people who’d turned on us, denying attempts to defend the truth.

In the weeks after that fateful November day my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, and I continued coaching the rest of the season towards a certain ending. And the morning that we brought the new dog home he’d fallen and broke his hip. A little over a month later, he was gone.

Once the plans for a new dog were revealed, there was some discussion about her name. Given the things that had happened I was looking for a name that would represent loyalty above all.

Odysseus and Argos

A love for the loyalty taught by my parents, and a familiarity with some of the ancient classics turned me towards one name, In the Odyssey, Odysseus goes off to war. His dog Argos waits twenty years for his return. When Odysseus returns disguised as a beggar, Argos is the only one to recognize him.

Given that our dog was a female, the name Argos was out.

But there is another story of loyalty in that book. Odysseus’ wife Penelope was hounded by suitors. Her husband was presumed dead, but she remained faithful and hopeful, certain that he would return. Ultimately her cunning and loyalty won out.

And with that, our rescue mutt took on the name Penelope, the name of a queen. Penny would be her nickname. The name was in a small way highlighting loyalty at a time when disloyalty’s darkness seemed ominous.

In those uncertain days, Penelope walked through our door for the first time. All she had was a simple rope toy, hopeful eyes, boundless energy and love. This was the first time we brought a new young dog into our home after we had kids, so this was new for us.

She was so good with them. She did things that young dogs do. She ran off a couple times and returned. She ate a bag of M&Ms and survived. She became a family member almost immediately.

She put smiles on our faces. And at a time when so much turmoil and seeming injustice was happening to us, she lifted my soul.

Across an Odyssey of my own, she was always there through days of tears and days of smiles. When I came home from the hospital after losing my father, she was there to curl up beside me.

She was by my side as fights raged on. In a house full of people, she was there as I wrote a eulogy for a nationally televised memorial service. Months later, at the end of a 15-hour day spent battling lies against an invasion of satellite TV trucks, she was there to make me smile.

As I typed the pages of my first book, she was in the den with me every day. Lying on her dog bed I could look over at her and smile through the tough days of typing and the happier days of editing. She was there when the first copy of the book showed up at my house.

She was there through writing two more books. She was there for high school graduations, for college graduations, for surprise anniversary and birthday parties. She was there when my father-in-law passed.

Summer evenings were spent on the front porch while I read books, wrote columns, smoked a brisket or listened to Red Sox games. Her patience awaiting the brisket was always rewarded. The sound of barking and my children’s laughter meant playtime was on in the basement or in the yard. She loved snow days that meant time outside with the kids.

She was there for long pre-dawn walks on difficult mornings when the air was cold and my emotions were raw. Other mornings were happy or hopeful. I can’t tell you how many sunrises we saw coming up over Mount Nittany. I can’t tell you how many ducks or deer or rabbits or geese we saw. It is far too many to count.

Through triumph and setbacks of a new life course she walked alongside us, all the while offering loyalty, happiness, playful barking and a wagging tail.

How many times did she lift my spirits at the end of a tough day? How many times did she sense sadness, or stress and curl up next to me to lift my very soul?

Penny and Poppy

Twice we brought other rescue dogs into our house. She welcomed them as a mother figure. One of those dogs Bonnie, has already passed. The other dog Poppy was at my side as Penny passed, but even still she remains looking for Penny to come around the corner at any minute.

There are so many memories of time spent with her.

Five years ago, we were devastated when we found out she had liver cancer. We hoped we’d get another year from her. But thanks to her vet Mark Koshko and Penny’s perseverance we got 5 more years.

As often happens with dogs near the end of their lives they seem to kick it back into high gear. They seem almost bulletproof. You gain this optimism that there is another spring or summer or dare you think it, another Christmas.

But as with elderly people, sometimes the end for older dogs comes suddenly.

In the last few weeks, Penny had a fall and some slips on the snow and ice. She mostly managed the pain. But the stairs seemed to be a temporary problem for her. I made a point to stay downstairs on the couch near a dog bed so she wouldn’t be alone at night.

She would wake me at 4:50 AM or 5:15 AM or whatever time her bladder told her she needed to go out. The time between lights out and wakeup was getting ever shorter.

Each day’s time demands and the shorter nights of sleep were taking a toll. But rewarding her lifelong loyalty meant every night I’d look across at her on her dog bed. I would smile, knowing that I was there for her and the way she’d always been there for me.

Monday night, there was no indication that things were going to end the next morning. Her appetite had rebounded some, we’d stopped the medicine that was making her drowsy, and it seemed to spark positive momentum.

Throughout the night, I heard some labored breathing, but it would quickly subside. I didn’t think anything of it. Our other dog Poppy kept stirring to go see her, which would wake me. I looked at Penny and there appeared to be no signs of serious distress.

Early in the morning she was panting so I rose to take her out, but I didn’t think it was the end.

Rosey

When a dog reaches a certain age, you know that you inevitably may have to make that call. It fills you with the most dread you can possibly imagine, because in that moment you’re playing God. You’re setting a time and a day deciding the mortality of a being you’ve known from its earliest days. You see this companion’s full arc of life from youth to old age.

You set the day and the night before you go to bed for a night you hope will never end to wake for a day you hoped would never arrive. You want time to stop.

But like Argos, who awaited his master’s return, Penny waited for me to get up and carry her outside. In the Odyssey, it is an emotional scene. A servant who does not recognize Odysseus tells him of the proud strength of Argos in his youth.

Despite the passage of twenty years, Argos recognized Odysseus and wagged his tail but was too weak to go greet Odysseus. The returning warrior king was moved to tears. Once Argos now knew his master remained among the living, he died having stood guard all that time.  

Much the same way, Penelope had remained loyal. That morning she’d waited all night for me to pick her up. I carried her outside, together again one more time in the pre-dawn darkness. But she could not move any more.

When I picked her up to come back inside, I knew something was different. She wasn’t holding her head up anymore, but she was breathing. She wasn’t lifting her legs anymore, but she was breathing. Hope was fading, but I still could not see it.

As I walked in, I put her down in the dog bed by the sliding glass door where she’d spent countless hours looking out the back looking towards sunset. I could tell something was wrong, so I held onto her. Like Argos, she had waited for me to be there and within a minute, she was gone.

She did not force us to make that call for her. She saved us from that burden. Selfless to the end, she chose her time. And she did not pass in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. She waited till I got up and picked her up. To the very end, she was loyal like she had been since that first day.

We put her in a blanket to carry her to the car; I stopped and walked out behind my house. How many times had she walked back there with me? How many sunsets had we seen looking west from that yard?

Although the sun had yet to rise, I turned towards the west and told her that I would see her when my last sunset fell. My heart was warmed because Pope Francis told a boy that our dogs cross to heaven too.

Penny and Bonnie

As I think about Penny, I know she’ll now be forever young. The pain is gone. She will run and play and chase rabbits and rejoin her friend Bonnie and meet Rosey who preceded her.

But there is a void there. Wednesday morning, I woke for one last time on the couch thinking about Penny. Taking Poppy outside, there was a palpable loneliness that we both sensed. Even now, Poppy looks all over the house for Penny. There’s sadness in her eyes. Someday she’ll know.

For now, I carry the lesson of Penelope’s loyalty with me forever. There are things that dogs just know. You can doubt it all you want you can be a cynic, but I’ve seen too much evidence in my life to the contrary. They sense when we need them, they sense ways to help us. They are capable of love and loyalty.

Theirs is a matchless empathy. How much better would the world be if we could all summon just a part of that?