I didn’t want him. We had three dogs already, albeit one shepherd was in her final stretch – but the other one was hyper reactive and was next in line as the alpha. Bringing a new puppy into that scenario would surely be a disaster. But my wife wanted him and so in the fall of 2013 we brought Bogart into our lives under one condition – that Strider, the young male Australian Shepherd, accepted him. I gave it two nights tops.
But, to my shock, Bogart was immediately accepted by the whole pack and suddenly we had a little blond ball of fluff running amok in our house.
To this day, he was the cutest puppy I’ve ever seen. It was impossible not to love him. His dad was a champion Labradoodle sire who traveled around the country having sex for money. But then he got a little too zealous with a pet lab belonging to a family in the mountains of NC and, yadda yadda yadda, Bogart was the runt of a big “mistake” litter. My friend at the time wanted to make sure they all had good homes and so several of our daughter’s soccer teammates also adopted puppies.
The alpha of our pack was approaching 14 and none of the other dogs dared cross her. But somehow, little Bogart worked his way into her heart before she passed away – leaving us with three dogs again.
We had all the adventures of a family of three young dogs and four humans who were in elementary and middle school and going through midlife feelings while just trying to make the ends meet and stay sane amid a chaotic life that was always in motion. Eventually, two of the people left the house to make their way into the world leaving the three now older dogs to two now older people – including one, me, who spent every day with them their whole lives. I didn’t mind. Because I’ve been mostly remote since 2001, dogs have been my daily companions and I’ve learned how to communicate with them in a way that feels like I’m not alone most of the time. Bogart fit right into this world even though he was my wife’s dog. She picked him. And he loved her for it. His heart was hers.
When I contracted cancer in 2022, the kids were in college but the dogs kept me company as I lay on the recliner recovering with tubes hanging out of me. Shortly after I was able to get around again, Sammy, our one-eyed Chihuahua Bulldog mix, died at what we think was 14 years. A month later, Strider, who over the years became Bogart’s best friend, showed signs that something was wrong. We took him to the vet where we learned that he had a ruptured tumor and needed to be euthanized. We had two days, if that, to say goodbye. He stuck by me through my cancer event only to be fighting cancer himself – with no symptoms for us to notice. And then, it was just two humans and Bogart.
For a very quiet week.
Strider’s death devastated me because we didn’t see it coming. He was only 11. And so our daughter found brother Australian Shepherds on a farm an hour outside of town for us to “go see.” Which of course was all I needed.
Bogart was 9 and he’d seen four pack members pass (including my Mother in-law’s dog), along with his best friend, and now he was alone.
The puppies weren’t an immediate hit with Bogart, but because one of them, Rocket, was a black tricolored like Strider, I knew that Bogart would eventually warm up to him.
He warmed up to both. And as he aged, the Aussie brothers took care of Bogart as a child would try to take care of a parent. In turn, Bogart taught these boys how to be respectful pack members in our home. When people meet the Aussies today they almost always remark at how calm and obedient they are – and while I’d love to take credit, it wasn’t me who trained them how to be that way. It was Bogart’s calming presence.
Bogart. The most unathletic dog I’ve ever thrown a ball to. But the dog who was so beautiful he’d stop you in your tracks to pet him.
A couple of years ago we bought a place near the beach in Florida, but weren’t in a position to sell our house in NC just yet. As such, my wife and I split time between the two places and have been on a schedule where we’d only see each other every other month. During that time, the Aussies would stay with me (because I work remote and can engage them all day bc that’s what Aussies need), and Bogart would stay with her (because he was older and chill and didn’t mind napping while she was at the office). But then this year, as we could tell Bogart was moving slower, we decided he should live the rest of his life with me and the boys exclusively so he could have a pack presence like he had most of his life.
Living with these Aussies was a bolt of light for Bogart. We took walks on the beach daily. As he continued to slow over the past couple of months, we’d all just walk down, sit at the edge and watch people and birds while listening to the rhythm of the surf. Just four friends breathing salt air together.
A couple months ago, Bogart had an accident in the house and was so embarrassed that when I let him out that morning, he ran off. He had never wandered off before that point. It was 8 AM and it was just me here at the time and so I called my wife in Charlotte who called vets and our daughters, one in Charleston and one in Mexico, who created a flier and started sending texts to friends here and within 90 minutes we located him. Someone a mile away saw him and enticed him with some food then posted it on social media. We wrote the digestive issue off as a bug and were just happy that we’d found him. After a couple more accidents, I took him to the vet with Rocket, who served as his emotional support dog, where they gave him a B-12 shot, some probiotics and a bag of gastrointestinal-friendly kibble. It worked for about a week. So I took him to a different vet, again with Rocket, who urged imaging. The imaging revealed tumors on several vital organs, but none had yet ruptured. The prognosis was that his days were numbered.
He turned 13 on 27 July. The daily beach walks stopped because he was too weak to make the quarter-mile trek. My wife was here and both our daughters were due in town the next week for our annual beach vacation so we just hoped he’d live until they arrived.
One daughter got here 29 July, the other was due on 1 August, but when he took a turn for the worse, I contacted her to give her the news. She left work in Charleston and drove down. When she arrived we piled Bogart into a wagon plush with a dog bed and blankets and wheeled him down to the beach. I’ll never forget the smile on his face as he made that ride. It was as if he was saying, “Wait, I could have been taking a wagon this whole time?”
We sat at the edge of the ocean until after the sun went down, then back at the house arranged for a vet to come by the next morning to ease him into his next phase. We showered him with affection and tried getting him to eat. He refused. Later that night, as he laid on me for stroking like he did every night of his life, I noticed that his paws were cold. It was as if life was literally leaving him. But then he mustered the strength to walk from the living room into the bedroom where he shocked me by placing his paws on the front edge of the bed so I could lift him. I covered him with a blanket as he took his place in bed next to his brothers and my wife. When I came in later, he raised his head to look at me and I placed a towel under him, then kissed him and prayed for peace before falling asleep.
My wife woke me at daybreak with quiet tears in her eyes. Bogart passed peacefully in his sleep.
Over the years, my wife said she always wished for a My Dog Skip ending for our dogs – where they’d just fall asleep and fade away. Of course this never happened – until Bogart, her boy, gifted her with it. It was so beautiful that it felt like poetry.
As I’ve said many times, my only beef with God is the length of a dog’s life. Because when they leave us, they do leave a hole. And that hole is never filled. Not by time. Not by other dogs. Because for me, there will always be other dogs. Despite the hurt of goodbye, the joy of living with these creatures will always rule over the hurt.
I’m so happy that my wife brought home a little blond puppy named Bogart.
Until we meet again, sweet boy. Thank you for being my friend.
Love, Jim
