A Remembrance of Our Dog
As caring pet owners themselves, so many people know too well what I and my family have gone through having lost our dear pet dog, Sonny (some insist it’s spelled Sunny which is also fitting). The love and support of our friends and extended family means everything and will get us through the loss. However, it is my nature to want to say a bit more than, “My dog died.” I want Sonny to have an obituary and a remembrance like any member of the community would have.
Sonny was a much beloved member of our small community, more so than many dogs because my wife is a stay-at-home piano teacher with a constant stream of kids and their parents, year after year. Each time they would come to the front door, they would hear the faithful bark of a vigilant guardian, alerting his house buddies to the new arrival. But as soon as the door opened and the visitors passed Sonny’s ritual inspection (often included 2 more barks for good measure for newcomers as if to put them on notice), he became the community therapy dog—a doe-eyed, 95 lbs, forever happy galoot who always had more room in his circle of trust and never so much nipped a person in 11½ years. My wife and Sonny were actually a therapy team and she regularly helped kids over their initial fear of Sonny and he became their friend and defacto guardian too. She often incorporated him into her lessons and he listened and enjoyed the company. Her lessons are usually 80% piano and 20% life. Learning both alpha and beta dog skills is quite valuable in life. She shared here adoration of Sonny with her piano teacher mother from Prague who was Sonny’s favorite visitor because it always meant more walks, treats and doting attention.
Sonny’s therapeutic abilities were fostered from the time he was a puppy where first he had to deal with three cats of various ages in addition to his human housemates. Before you knew it, they were playing all sorts of games together. One the favorites was Sonny spinning an office chair while his cat brother, Jules went for a ride and messed with Sunny as he swung by.
Then Sonny had many days at our little business, Gluon, downtown and was a beloved fixture at the office for a few years. At one point when Sonny was still a pup we added a Dojo to the 3rd floor of our office and hired 7-time World Champion, Grand Master Ken Gartman to hold classes. Ken is a “dog person” to such an extent that he worked and trained with big security dogs for a living for several years and has the confidence of an alpha dog. He trained those German Shepherds in Deutsch which I later found out was so intruders who spoke English or non-German would be soundly ignored. Sonny always loved Ken and Ken always loved Sonny. Ken often housesat while we were on vacation so Sonny and he were fully bonded.
Sonny only had one thing that triggered him and it could be a little scary if you were unprepared—small dogs. I always found it amusing, such a gentle fellow and then so much as a whiff or glance of a small dog across the street and he became enraged as though it was his solemn and only duty to dispatch this creature pretending to be a dog. Sonny was imposing and I was always glad to have his teeth and bone-crunching jaw on my side and not against me (or anyone). None were harmed but it did require careful management and so we couldn’t really take him to dog parks. I like all dogs so I never shared this disdain he had, though I draw the line at excessive yapping. Sonny used his deep barks judiciously and for us it was better than any security camera. When he barked, there was always a reason.
Pretty much only two things frightened Sonny: 1) Me raising my voice which I did seldomly—usually after he had inhaled some food we left at his level unattended for too long. I just wanted to see that tail between the legs look dogs get when they know they did something wrong. He usually had incredible discipline and manners in this regard but every dog has his limits so these things were never his fault. 2) Thunder would turn him into a shivering mess and many a night were spent doing rounds with various house members reassuring him all was going to be fine, even while sharing his wise respect and fear of lightning. He always knew it was coming long before the rest of us so he was also a weather dog for us.
Have you ever handed a big dog some food and wondered if your hand was going to come back in full tact? With Sonny, no matter how delicious and juicy the morsel, he used utmost care to not bite the hand feeding him. He knew the instant his teeth made contact and you could sense a sweetness in the exchange almost as though his teeth were giving you a kiss instead of a bite yet always making sure to fully retrieve the offering at the same time. Sonny loved all human food except for instantly rejected citrus and a few odd vegetables. He seemed to really enjoy spicy food too. He would always lick his chops a little more when it was spicy. Sonny was my best diet as I always reserved several bites for him, even often the first and last bites so he probably saved me from many thousands of extra calories over the years. I’m not the only sucker out there. My friend and bass player in our band was probably worse, giving like every other bite to Sonny. Sonny loved Cris! I noted a fairly predictable algorithm in Sonny’s reaction to food offerings. Small, eat immediately on the spot. Medium, carry to another spot and eat privately. Large, go to back door or “secret” in-house place to bury for later. This algorithm was also effected by the perceived value of the food where more special foods could trigger “privatization” at a smaller portion. Sonny could catch anything in his mouth at almost any speed and many a scrap was tossed in the general direction of his head and were rarely missed. We have slow motion videos of this impressive skill.
Sonny earned the name Rock Dog from the band as he would often come downstairs to the basement and listen to the band play which was pretty amazing considering how much he hated banging sounds. You had to play well to keep Sonny there. As soon as you started to suck, he made for the door. He especially loved acoustic music and would lay for hours listening to me and Cris jamming. He was basically just another great friend hanging out with the guys. Sonny was the sort of dog that inspired envy in other dog owners. They would often say, why can’t my dog be more chill or more polite like Sonny. Sonny was a dog person’s dog. We used the “give me 5” vernacular of “shake” and Sonny never failed to ambidextrously slap you 5, especially if a snack was imminent.
There’s not much more to say about the lucky life of our beloved dog except that every single day, without fail, he greeted me with a wagging tail, a smile in his eyes and positivity, morning and night when I returned from work. I greatly enjoyed chasing him around the house and yard playing his favorite game of keep away. I mostly loved the childish look in his eyes, ears tucked back and the pride with which he carried ropes and balls when being chased. He had a little Clydsdale horse in that stride. Pure glee. If it was in his mouth your were not going to get it without some trickery and convincing. Fetch with Sonny was more like get the ball from him if you could, then throw it and repeat. I think he may have voluntarily dropped a fetch ball at my feet three times in his life. He trained me more than I ever trained him.
I once heard a Native American advice to “Follow the Dog Spirit” and I often repeated this to my children when I wanted them to forgive and forget, be wary, brave and loyal and keep a happy heart, using Sonny as a prime example.
So positive was his energy that even in his last few months of life when he obviously was not himself inside and had something serious effecting his breathing and causing him to groan to himself a bit, he maintained a chipper outside, never indulging in well-deserved self pity. As stoic dogs do, he kept his pain to himself but we knew and so we stepped up our love and attention accordingly.
Sonny had a great life, filled with family, children, friends, good food, walks, cats and rabbits and raccoons, in a good yard. When he reached the end of that life, he exited it at the exact time and place of his choosing which is one of the most astounding things I will now recount to you.
On his last night on Earth he stood up all night long as though he knew if he lay down he would die. I know this as my wife had recounted it—she being his savior and most loving caretaker at any hour of the day. That morning I awoke and went downstairs for my coffee. There I saw Sonny standing at the back door, all four legs shaking from the fatigue of fighting off the reaper. I opened the door and he took one last glorious promenade around HIS yard and came back in and gave my hand a sweet little dog kiss. I didn’t know this was the end yet. I went upstairs to my bedroom to drink my cup and prepare for the day. A minute or so later I was surprised to see Sonny open the door with his nose, after spending his last energy on Earth climbing the stairs. He walked over and gave me a beautiful loving look in the eyes and I said, “Go lay down, old fellow.” He walked over to the rug and groaned a couple times as he laid himself down as dogs normally do. Seconds later he toppled over sideways with a thud, and he was dead. I realized Sonny waited all night to see me one more time to say goodbye and I hugged him as he drew his last breath. It was a very beautiful and agonizing moment in my life.
What was almost as astounding was who, within minutes of Sonny’s passing, showed up at our front door, having heard through the grapevine—Grand Master Ken. He came to pay his respects to the dog he had known since a puppy and to help me carry Sonny to the Veterinary Hospital. He was a heavy one and Ken and I became Sonny’s pallbearers, our beautiful brindle friend shrouded in a blanket. Ken, my daughter and I carried him first to my car, surreally and respectfully placing him in the trunk. Then at the Vet, carefully placing him on a receiving table and giving him one last hug and tear-filled kiss. Ken stood up straight, hands at side and bowed with a respectful “Ooos” and I followed. With those bows, we paid our final respects. Thank you Ken for your perfect timing, help and honor in a difficult moment. A true friend.
Sonny was the perfect dog who I loved with all my heart. Handsome. Kind. Big, but not too big. Tough, but gentle. Guardian of the home. Barked, but not too much. Never hurt a soul. Loved cats and people. Loved by all. Always sunny, happy and loving, unconditionally, right up to his perfect last moment. Sonny made us all better people. Thank you for everything, Sonny ❤️
