Todd and I met in 1994 while living in Las Vegas, NV. We dated for about a year and a half before I decided to move to Reno to go back to college. My move to Reno initiated what I lovingly refer to as the Shit-Or-Get-Off-The-Pot stage of our relationship. Ultimately Todd chose to move to Reno with me. We moved to northern NV not knowing a single soul. It was just Todd and I setting out to create our lives together.
The summer following our move to Reno, we took another step towards happily-ever-after. We got a dog.
My hesitant counter-part and I drove north of town to see a litter of 7 four -week-old golden retriever puppies that were born on the fourth of July. I had already told the breeder I was interested in a quiet female puppy. He suggested the runt before we even got there. “She is a bit of a loner” he said, “tends to keep to herself.”
At a mere four weeks the puppies were still tiny - their eyes barely opened and their ears were still plastered to the sides of their heads. Todd sat on the sofa, arms crossed and unwilling to even touch a puppy. I handed him the runt and he glared at me. I chatted away with the breeder and met the proud puppy parents. About 10 minutes in I heard a faint “Yo?” and then I felt a tap on my shoulder. Annoyed that my attention was being called away from the glorious pile of fur and bare bellies, I turned around to find a look on Todd’s face I hadn’t ever seen before. “I want this one.” he said referring to the runt who was now snuggled up to his neck fast asleep. Four weeks later our perfect little ‘runt’ was ready to come home.
I picked the name “Dylan” for our little girl. Since she was a purebred we knew that we needed one of those fancy names that purebred’s have on their official papers - you know, names like “Desert Shiloh’s Pride and Glory”. We joked that since Dylan was being named after Bob, her formal name would be “Dylan’s Rolling Stone.
It took no time at all for not-a-dog-person-Todd to become completely sucked into Dylan Dog’s world. And she was our world. I feel like Dylan was the catalyst that sealed the deal for Todd and I. We have always lived very separate lives with very different interests. Dyl (or my little “Dyl Pickle“ as I like to call her), was the first “thing” we both cared about very deeply. Dylan brought out a side of Todd that I hadn’t seen before. Todd became increasingly gentle and nurturing and it made him all the more endearing to me. It became the three of us taking road trips and going camping. It was the three of us sleeping in on weekend mornings and the three of us watching television from the sofa. Dyl was our first real collaboration and for 6 short years the three of us were our own little family - Todd, Dylan and I.
Todd will tell you that Pickle was our first step towards becoming parents because we had to think about her before we thought of ourselves. I will tell you that my dream had come true - I had an awesome dog that was very much a full-fledged family member. We took many a teary trips with her to the after-hours Vet and stayed up all night when she vomited for a week straight (we finally figured out she was drinking out of our roommate’s toilet that had flushable cleanser in it). We rushed her to the vet in the middle of a work day when she was stung by a bee and had an allergic reaction. Todd carried her down a mountain on his shoulders when she tore her paws up from a particularly difficult hike. Where we went, Dylan went.
Lot’s of normal dog things were beneath Dylan. She hated to lick and give kisses (thank gawd) and she refused to swim. She wouldn’t ever jump up on you although she would tap dance in front of you making it painfully obvious that it was taking every last bit of restraint not to. Pickle was also too smart for fetch. She was perfectly capable, she simply didn’t see the point. She would bring the ball back to us once, maybe twice, but after that, what was the point? She took naps with our cats and loved to sit with her nose on your leg while you watched TV. I always got the impression that she sincerely never wanted to be any trouble. If she wanted to come in the house she would let out a single bark to tell you so. Once inside she would simply nudge you once, and place her chin on your knee to make herself available for petting. If you told her “not now”, she would immediately walk away. She didn’t ever want to be a burden.
As the years went on we added our yellow lab Jackson, and our boys Kyle and Eric to our family and our lives moved ahead. We bought a house, had a cat pass away and Todd became a partner in his firm. We got married and bought a second house and had a second cat pass away. Todd sold his business, I started my own and we picked up a cat. The clock ticked and as our lives grew more and more hectic, Dylan graciously accepted the fact that she had to share our time and our attention.
This past Wednesday morning Dylan caught my eye. I was standing in the kitchen and she was lying on the grass in the back yard. We locked eyes for a long moment and I thought “wow, she looks sad.” At a mature 12 years of age, her now white face has been showing signs of aging for a while. She’s been limping from bad hips and a leg injury. The vet suggested we not operate because of her “advanced age” which Todd and I rolled our eyes at - we swear we just picker her out yesterday. I do have to say that Dylan’s age had become the elephant-in-the-room lately. An elephant that Todd and I preferred to walk around. Nevertheless, Dylan would bark once when she wanted to come inside at night. She would do her tap dance at our feet and when she thought we weren’t looking she would head to the cat bowl to devour Gwynnie’s food.
I came home at 1:00 that same Wednesday. As usual Dylan heard my arrival and did her single bark asking me to let her into the garage so she could snuggle on her dog bed. At 4:00 I went into the garage again but this time she didn’t tap dance. In fact, she didn’t move at all. Dylan was gone. I imagine she simply did not want to be a burden because she gave us no warning signs. Twelve years old? Really? I swear we just picked her out yesterday.
There are several things I am thankful for today. I am thankful that Dylan had normal, albeit slow days all the way to the end. I am thankful she didn’t have to go through a bunch of tests and blood work and that we didn’t have to make horrible medical decisions about her care and ultimate demise. I am so thankful that she passed when the boys were at school because Todd and I were able to grieve together without needing to be strong for the boys. And finally I am most thankful that for an hour last Wednesday afternoon it was just Todd, Dylan and I one last time.
