Open Mike: The Love of Dogs

Chris Skarbon, Chris and Freddy on a walk in Sussex

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We cannot do for people what we do for pets. 

It's a pet owner's responsibility to manage the death of their beloved companion. It falls to us to balance our desire to have them stick around as long as possible, against their interest in slipping this mortal coil with a minimum of distress and pain. It creates a classic dilemma worthy of Greek tragedy: they might be who we least want to lose, yet we must decide when they die. 

Butters died on June 6th. You might not agree that "a dog is a man's best friend," but Butters was mine. The evergreen aphorism, by the way, is credited to King Frederick II of Prussia, who, before his death in 1786, said of his Italian greyhound, Biche: "The only, absolute and best friend a man has, in this selfish world, the only one that will not betray or deny him, is his dog."

I had—am having—a hard time with it. I was so attached. As one friend said, "you are releasing him from suffering at the cost of your own." 

The beginning of my connection was rooted in duty. Butters came to me with his name. He was a runaway whose family couldn't pay the fee to retrieve him from the shelter. He spent many months of his puppyhood there, in a chainlink pen with a concrete floor, surrounded by dogs but not interacting with them, getting insufficient human attention and only one hour of outside time in every 24. He came to us with a welter of deficits, neuroses, bad behaviors, and needs, and we had to work so hard together for so long to help him overcome them. He had separation anxiety, couldn't be crated, and was poorly socialized. It came close to defeating me. And yet it created a deep bond. He flourished under the care, attention, and love Xander and I gave him, and ended up, I would say, 95% cured. Given where he started, that was close to miraculous. To get him over his leash reactivity, to name just one of many issues, I walked with him two miles every morning and two miles every evening for eight months, following the suggestions on that linked page. At first we had to avoid every distraction. But by the end of the eight months he had graduated to being able to pass a leashed dog coming the other way. It felt like a victory to me the first time he managed it. As we passed, he kept going and kept his eyes ahead but vocalized suppressed whimpers. The turmoil was still in there, but he was striving mightily to keep himself together. Good boy!

All his life I really enjoyed caring for him. He understood me and I understood him. We worked out everything between us. However, it was usually a negotiation, and some of the negotiations could take a while! :-) Our biggest struggle was in how to come inside after a session of fetch. As each session neared its end he would become more and more reluctant to relinquish the ball, and resist giving it up to come inside. After much stubbornness on both sides, we worked out a method: I let him take the ball inside himself, and then he gave up the fight and turned it over.

We went through a whole eight-week obedience course not once but twice with Leann Boucha, the dog trainer who helped us adopt him. At one point I told her that I had always wanted a dog who was superbly well trained, who would heel without a leash, come at first call, and hold a stay until released. She thought for a moment and said, "Well, Mike...this is not that dog." Made me laugh.

Dogs mature at about age three, and Butters settled down eventually into a bright, gentle, always amenable, kindhearted dog, quirky and interesting, never aggressive, with a mind of his own but great enthusiasm for his owners. He was a lab mix with some pit bull in him—I always meant to have his DNA analyzed, but never did—with smallish ears but an enormous tail. It seldom stopped wagging, its speed showing the relative state of his happiness. You could speed it up by showing him a little attention, and when it really got going it was like an ear-to-ear smile. We called it "the nuclear tail"—small children were in danger of getting smacked if he was particularly happy, and he once wagged it so hard he broke a blood vessel at the end of it, flinging drops of blood to both sides. He and Lulu slept together on the porch (Lulu died in 2021 at age 16) and he preferred to sleep there long after she died, but otherwise he was with me. He liked having me around and I felt the same way. I've almost never played pool without him in the shed. We parallel-played—pool on the table, fetch out the doorway—winter or summer. Even at night, with a glow-in-the-dark ball that I recharged with a bright LED flashlight. One of the saddest things about his final illness was that his eternally waving or wagging tail was stilled for the first time since I'd known him. I saw it wag, faintly, only once more, a few weeks before his death. 

Last week was a trying, challenging, anguishing week. I originally scheduled his euthanasia for Tuesday, but, after a day of unforeseen distress I found I could not go through with it. I was really struggling. We converted that appointment to a quality-of-life discussion, ending the session by making the same kind of appointment for Friday. He declined noticeably in the interim, as he had been doing for some while now—he'd been sick since last Thanksgiving (he had a brain tumor). I could barely leave him. It was actually just me who needed those three days. I needed time to accept what had to be done. To choose to end something that is so precious and can never be replaced is so brutally final, so forever. I couldn't face it. I ended up feeling I picked the jumping-off point about as well as I could have. Although that did not make the goodbye any easier.

I'm unsure if I have ever known any creature on this Earth better than I knew Butters. As soon as that thought occurred to me, I wondered if I was being unfair to any humans, especially my son. But human children, as close as we are to them, individuate as teenagers. And that's normal and to be desired. A dog never says, "I'm sick of you telling me what to do. I want to live my own life. I'm getting an apartment!"

(Xander never said that, t0 be fair. He "launched" himself into independent adulthood very well, without issues.)

Pets are, or can be, so specific, too. A dog is not a dog is not a dog, a cat is not a cat is not a cat. Another friend said: "I never got another cat after Penny died, because whenever I considered it, I realized I didn't want a different cat, I wanted Penny! Only cat I've felt that way about." Penny had been gone for 30 years when he said that. I know what he means. I don't want a dog; I want Butters.

Peter's wisdom talk
Four years ago, before Lulu died, a veterinarian friend named Peter took a generous amount of time schooling me about end-of-life issues with animals, for which I am forever grateful. He told me something I hadn't thought of: that I needed to consciously, actively prepare myself to forgive myself. There is no such thing, he said, as a perfect end-of-life decision. Whatever you do can be second-guessed in some way if you're predisposed to do so. It's that Greek tragedy thing. So do the best you can, remind yourself after the fact that you were fulfilling your responsibility to your friend, doing your duty to ease him on his way, and then be gentle with yourself afterward. We can't protect them entirely. I guess Peter had seen a lot of pet owners accept a semi-permanent sense of needless self-blame, and that was also distressing for him as a vet.

As Butters' sickness progressed he responded more and more to love and affection, and needed it more. It relaxed and consoled him and gave him comfort. Every day, several times a day, I would invite him up on the couch, and kneel down, and let him bury his face in the crook of my arm, and I'd stroke him gently and talk to him in a quiet voice. Then he could settle down, stop his endless pacing and crash into a near-comatose sleep that looked half like death already.

A pet is a distinctive kind of friend for many reasons. One is that their affections have a forthright, unmediated character—even though they might still be transactional! And, they live with us at home, day in, day out. I love a select small cadre of precious humans, but they don't live with me and are not a daily presence in my life. They are loved, some of them deeply, but they don't keep me company. Companions might be the beings we miss the most, whether human or animal, on account of that quotidian intimacy. Grief does not observe protocols, and is not subject to the hierarchies that seem correct to us. It was always a joy to come home to Butters. I've never lived here without him before. The house is empty. The Universe seems empty, if that's not too dramatic to say. Talking to friends on the phone has helped. It makes my grief vanish, if only temporarily. When I disconnect from the call and find myself alone in the empty house, the grief settles in again, like a fog returning. 

Empty house
I was up at 4:30 this morning, just like buddy Butters boy was still here and alerting me with a bark that he needed to get outside. I can't just go right back to a normal sleep schedule. To be honest, I'm considering adopting a permanent two-part sleep schedule: midnight to 5 a.m., give or take half an hour, and then maybe 9 a.m. to 11 a.m.—writing in between. I struggled with EMAs (early morning awakenings) and insomnia long before Butters got sick at the end of last November. Do you think that would, or do you think it wouldn't, work? It's tempting to try.

I kept no mementos of his death. They want to give you ashes, his collar, a cast of his pawprint—but why? So I can be sad every time I come across them? I have tons of pictures and videos—he was a handsome dog, although not a willing model. I'll get rid of the dog stuff that's all over the house. But I'm going to take my three favorite pictures of him and get them printed and framed, and hang them in the bedroom, where I currently have nothing on the walls. I'll probably do the same for Lulu. 

Title of random Bill Frisell album: Good Dog, Happy Man. There was only one Butters. I loved him dearly. I'm deeply grateful he was here. I might miss him for the rest of my life.

Mike
(Thanks to Chris Skarbon)

 

Original contents copyright 2025 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Note: These really are just a sampling. I appreciated reading every comment I got on this post, and each one helps. And I appreciated hearing about so many other loved and valued pets. Sincere thanks to everyone, including those who contacted me privately or asked that their comments not be shared.  —Mike

Bob Rosinsky: "The canine love of my life, Jazz, passed in 2016. I think of her often and when I do, it always brightens my mood."

Mike replies: You know, I am going to work on getting there. Butters brought me a lot of joy. I think I can get to a place where I mainly remember that if I work on it. Thanks for that Bob.

Dennis Mook: "What a wonderful tribute to Butters and a good way to start your process of healing. I had the privilege to spend a few hours with Butters when my wife and I visited you. I witnessed, first hand, the 'fetch protocol.' I could see in that short time that he was a wonderful companion and full member of your family. I think I know how you feel as my little buddy of 16 years, Max, fell terribly ill and the same process of decision-making took place. Even though we know what the inevitable must be, it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m sorry for your loss."

Tom Passin: "Oh, Mike, my deepest condolences for Butters. It's been six months since I had to help my Jasper along. By now I can think of him with a smile and talk about him with others. But reading your post still brought out tears with memories of the day and the loss. I think it helps to set a direction for the long term. For example, 'I will be able to care for and love another dog'; or 'I will be able to remember my time with Butters with love and fondness.' Anything, really, that speaks to you. That's the important part. It will act like a light that will call you to keep moving forward."

Brian Cormack: "After reading this I had to get up and go give my aging pup (a 12-year-old Sheltie/Collie mix) a good hug. This must have been so hard to write, and I'm really sorry for your loss."

Mike replies: It was actually therapeutic to write, I think. It helped me work through some things. And I do treasure the memories. 

Benjamin Marks: "All we can do, Mike, is gather 'round, as you see so many you have touched do here. I don't think grief is an emotion like sadness. It is the heart's sense that the universe is 'wrong' without the beloved's presence in it. You were fortunate to have Butters in your life, but it was a 'make your own luck' kind of luck, not a 'something nice happened to me' type. You gave Butters your heart and he gave you his. There is no greater prize, you lucky, lucky man. I wish you peace and the comfort of honest tears."

Andrew Lamb: "I am so very sorry for your loss, Mike. I can't think of anything wise or consoling to say. They break your heart. It's a loss you never get over, even if you own another dog who is also special in their own way. Deepest condolences."

Caleb Courteau: "My deepest condolences, Mike. This is a beautifully written tribute to a dear friend. My wife and I lost our cat, Vita, last year. We also had to go through the agonizing process of choosing the 'right' moment to put her down. She was a quirky cat, but deeply loving. She was intimidated by people standing or walking, and would skitter away like a cockroach when you approached her. However, once you were seated she would promptly hop on your lap and mash her face against yours, emitting deep purrs. I watched her take her last breath as the euthanasia took hold, and stroked her head as she faded out. I haven’t cried that much in years."

David Dyer-Bennet: "It sounds like Butters was hugely lucky to have found you. And you to have found him, for that matter. I've gotten a lot of pleasure out of your photos and anecdotes about him over the years."

Comments

[Curt Gerston]

I’m so sorry Mike. Beautifully written.

[Peter Croft]

Oh Mike, I feel your pain. My eyes are filled with tears over Minty (Minnie), my Golden Labrador female. I had to make that same decision on 1 September 2013. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I'll never forget driving away, knowing she wouldn't be there to greet me when I got home. Not having any children, I loved that dog as my daughter and I know she loved me.

Everyone says I should get another dog, but I couldn't go through that again. I still feel the pain.

[Dogman]

No words give comfort at this time, Mike. Just know some of us understand all those feelings you're having. Hang in there.

[Ed Hawco]

My condolences, Mike.

[Kenneth Tanaka]

My deepest condolences, Mike. Believe me I know your pain very, very well. We lost our pet 9 years ago and still grieve. You’re absolutely right that a pet is a distinctive kind of friend. I’ve had several pets in my life but none felt as close to me as the last guy. Being faced with the orphaned toys and empty “spots” is most painful now.

I think you’ll find some relief in celebrating the life you gave Butters, a life he almost certainly would not have known otherwise. You have shared many wonderful photos of him that will help,keep him alive, too. But it just takes time. A long time.

[Steve Biro]

I’m sorry for your loss and pain, Mike. I have experienced the death of a longtime, beloved pet myself. It takes a while for the grief to fade but it does. And yet, 40 years later, it still bothers me occasionally.

As far as your thoughts on “split shift” sleeping, know this: four plus four does not equal eight. On the other hand, if you’re going to wake up that early anyway - and cannot go back to sleep - going with a split shift is clearly better than making do with only one short shift. Also, if you send the period between shifts writing, there’s a good chance the blue light from your computer screen will further hamper your efforts to sleep.

Also, a lack of sleep (as you probably already know) makes dealing with grief - and general problem solving - more difficult. So you must do what you need to do to take care of yourself. If you can’t do it alone, get professional help.

Good luck. We’re all thinking about you.

[Doug Orr]

Mike, below is a poem I always turn to during a sorrowful time like this.
~ D. W. Orr Photo & Poetry

The House Dog's Grave (Haig, an English bulldog)

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment,
You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the night through
I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read--and I fear often grieving for me--
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope than when you are lying

Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dear, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for
As I have been.

And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. . . .
But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

- Robinson Jeffers, 1941

[Richard Alton]

May Butters rest in peace - and be gentle with yourself, Mike.

[Christian Timmerman]

“Merely by agreeing to feed her and dispose of her waste, I had opened a portal to a pure, white-light joy.” -Sarah Miller

We said goodbye to our precious Reyna a year and a half ago. Devastating. But just last week we welcomed Quincy into lives. Grieve in your own way for as long as necessary but do not deny another dog the same great life you gave Butters.

[Jim Arthur]

"Charley likes to get up early, and he likes me to get up early too. And why shouldn't he? Right after his breakfast he goes back to sleep. Over the years he has developed a number of innocent-appearing ways to get me up. He can shake himself and his collar loud enough to wake the dead. If that doesn't work he gets a sneezing fit. But perhaps his most irritating method is to sit quietly beside the bed and stare into my face with a sweet and forgiving look on his face; I come out of deep sleep with the feeling of being looked at. But I have learned to keep my eyes tight shut. If I even blink he sneezes and stretches, and that night's sleep is over for me. Often the war of wills goes on for quite a time, I squinching my eyes shut and he forgiving me, but he nearly always wins."

~John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, 1962

[Dave Karp]

So sorry, Mike. That was a fitting tribute to your relationship with Butters. Please accept my condolences.

[John]

So sorry to hear, Mike. I wish you lots of strength.

[Peter Conway]

My deepest sympathies, Mike. Having lost our two older Samoyeds over the course of four months this past fall/winter, I have an appreciation for what you've been through. Your post is an eloquent tribute to Butters, and what it means to live with, love, and ultimately have to say goodbye to a cherished dog.

[James]

So sorry Mike. He was well loved.

[SteveW]

Mike, I'm so sorry for your loss of your good friend Butters. I also have a senior dog, and well, I shed some tears reading this. Thank you for writing with such vulnerability and authenticity. I've read your blog for years, but I think this is the best you've ever wrote. Take care, you have been a blessing to Butters, and gave him the best possible life.

[Rob Griffin]

Mike,

My kindest condolences. You are correct of course, a human being can have no more trusted a friend than a pet that is loved and is loving. I hope you can forgive yourself. You have given butters the ultimate kindness.

[Stan B.]

So sorry to hear... They have their own special way of getting under your skin. I too longed for a mythical 'smart' dog, instead I got one that was 100% completely innocent to the ways of the world. He was more of a gift than I realized at the time, and ended teaching me things a lot more valuable than I had to impart to him.

[Michael Hill]

I know that pain all too well ... my condolences!

[Herman Krieger]

We are saying goodbye to Sobatchka before her last trip to the vet. She was a mutt, but a very lovable one.
">https://hermankrieger.com/sobatchka.jpg">

[David G. Miller]

You are a good man, Mike Johnston. And to Butters, who is very much alive —in your heart, and in your mind, and in your photographs— I say, "Good dog!"

[Blayne Puklich]

Been where you are 5 times so far. Every one of my dogs, except for one, has been a rescue. They all had issues, several so bad I damn near gave up, too. But in the long run sticking with it has always been so worth it.

I had a parallel experience with Ruby, my first St. Bernard (my third dog). When I lost her it took me more than two months to not totally break down every night. I adopted her as a stray picked up somewhere in a southern state at what was supposedly 5 years old, and she lived to 12 which is well beyond normal lifespan. I still miss her greatly.

Before I adopted one of my current St. Bernards, George, I was warned that he was extremely difficult. He was abandoned at a daycare at 9 months, never picked up, and in foster care for 6. When I first met him they warned me some more, but I could instantly tell he would turn out OK because of how he acted towards me. That dog, as “difficult” as he supposedly was, was glued to me, by his choice, right out of the gate. I’m now glued to him, too. He’s going to be very, very hard to lose.

It doesn’t get easier the more it happens, but I think the right attitude is to be very serious about what our role is with pets. They’re not temporary, they’re a commitment. If you can’t fully commit to them for their entire life, you probably shouldn’t have any.

By the way, the split sleep pattern is something I did in college and it was very successful. It’s something I think Ben Franklin did as well. I would give it a try. It might work out really well for you.

Hang in there. It’s hard, but it’s part of the deal and time softens it.

[MIke Ferron]

I m sorry for your loss Mike. Such a hard thing to endure. Buddy (age 7) and Molly (age 6 ) have pretty much equal rights around the house. Karin and I enjoy them immensely. Problem.. When buddy was just one year old I looked at him and got sad, a touch teary eyed actually. The reason? I know about how long he is going to live, Molly too. Everyday will be a bit better Mike. We have lost 6 beloved dogs to age over the last 20 years. Time does heal the wounds.

[Gene Forsythe]

Mike, there is little that could be added to what you have written. Those that rescue and adopt and dedicate their lives to the abused and troubled, whether human or animal, are the best of us. You are one of those people.

As you note, it is the quiet that remains that is the most painful, the most difficult to accept, continually bringing memories of the past to the surface - with all the nostalgia, sadness, and regret that those memories carry with them.

Know that, in my mind and, I am sure, the minds of your readers and followers on this blog, you made the best possible decision for Butters. I hope that you will soon be able to see the happy memories that Butters (and Lulu) shared with you in the bright sunrises and sunsets that surround your home.

By the way -- I love your photo of Butters.
-------------------------
re your question about daily schedules -- In the early days of our nation (candles and oil lamps) split schedules were quite common. Quite a few biographies of people like Washington, Jefferson, Franklin and Adams that I have read point out that much of their writing was done in the early morning hours. So give it a try. If it's not a fit for you it will be obvious fairly quickly. I would also say that you should consider re-creating a walking schedule and perhaps a calendar of events to visit and places to visit.
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All my best wishes for you in this sad time, and thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us.

[Kurt Kramer]

As a long time friend once pointed out, pets are furry bundles of love destined to break your heart.

[Daniel Sheehan]

So sorry for your loss.

[Allan Stam]

Dear Mike,

Your rumination and eulogy for Butters touched me deeply. Your observations about the special connection that can occur between a man and his dog brought both memories and tears. Thank you for putting in writing what many of us have struggled with.

[Richard Sloves]

May his memory be a blessing. (A Hebrew response to the name of a lost and righteous other)

[Vijay]

I’m sorry Mike, and thank you for the great writing. I hope it helps in processing your grief.

[Stuart Hamilton]

I'm so sorry to hear this Mike.

My last dog died 40 years ago and I simply cannot let my thoughts travel back to the time of her death; it's just too painful.

Jerry Jeff understood.

Mr. Bojangles
Mr. Bojangles
Mr. Bojangles
Dance

He's danced for those
At minstrel shows
And county fairs
Throughout the South
He spoke with tears
Of fifteen years
How his dog and him
They traveled about

His dog up and died
He up and died
After twenty years he still grieves.

All my best, thanks for the wonderful pictures.

[Dave Haberman]

My condolences, Mike. As someone who has gone through this agonizing process a number of times, I fully understand what you are going through. I have no doubt that in coming months Butters will bring a smile to your face.

[William Lewis]

It's nice to see people who can love and appreciate dogs. Due to an ... incident, lets just say, when I was 5 or 6, I'll never trust much less even like dogs like many of the people I know.

There is a part of me that has a twinge of jealousy about that until I remember that doberman. Then, I only want dogs like that lovely portrait of Butters.

[Graeme Scott]

So sorry to hear this.

Butters was very lucky that you found him.

Best wishes.

[Tony Theobald]

Sad for your loss. Mike

[Tom Burke]

I’m sorry to hear this, Mike, though given the content of some recent posts it’s not unexpected. I have never been in the position you’re in, so I can’t make any comments on how you feel or how long you’ll feel this way - I just don’t know. But you have my commiserations.

You may remember that back in April 2016 I met Butters. He seemed a lively and friendly fellow on that day. And I bought a print of the image at the bottom of your post when you included it in a sale a few years ago. I specifically chose it because it was of Butters, and it reminded me of that day.

[R. Edelman]

Along with your other readers, I also offer my sympathies for the loss of Butters.
Most people who have pets will outlive them, so it is helpful to accept that from the start. Keep in mind that you saved Butters, and he obviously loved you for that. You could not have done better for him. Feeling pain and loss is understandable and natural. That will greatly diminish. You certainly will miss him, but hopefully in the future the fond memories are what you will feel when you are reminded of him. But please purge any guilt you might be experiencing. You were a good dog dad to Butters. He knew it, and loved you, too.

[Pete Fanchi]

I wish I had the magic words that could heal your pain but I know they don't exist. I've been where you are several times. You gave Butters a good life. The only thing I've found that eases the heartache is to adopt a new friend when you're ready.

[Roger]

Sad news indeed, Mike.

We recently had to have our two rescue Pugs put down several months apart, which made it pretty rough on the one that remained. They were inseparable.

Their prior lives were likely pretty rough: The rescue group we adopted them from suspected that they'd escaped a puppy mill. Food was their obsession for a very long time.

We took comfort in knowing that the last several years of their lives were happy, comfortable and with plenty of good food.

Take comfort in knowing Butters was a happier dog with a great life thanks to your compassion and care.

[Dan Khong]

Mike

I am so sorry to hear of your loss. In your posts, and over the years, you have enabled me to share your journey with Butters.

There were good times and there were not so good ones...but Butters was there to love you all the same and all the way.

No amount of words can truly comfort a person who has suffered such great loss. Only time will bring about closure. And time your readers owe you and will give you all that you need.

Some time ago, I wrote an article about Pet Heaven for my daughters to read. There is a chance that you will see Butters again.

Dan K.
Singapore

[Rob de Loe]

I don't want another dog. I want Sophie. I still have Sophie, but I can't pretend what stage of her life we are in.

I'm so sorry for your loss Mike. Many people will not understand what you're going through. I do.

[Cateto/Jose]

I am very sorry for your loss, Mike. I was at the same situation in 2008, with our first dog (Buba), and our current dog, Coco, is getting old and we feel the end is not far away.

I hope the grief won't be too hard for you Mike. It is time to focus on the good moments you have lived together.

[Rob]

My deepest condolences Mike. Butters was fortunate to have had you in his life.

[Cliff]

Mike,

My heart hurts over your loss.
I always thought I was training our dogs, after all I must be smarter, I have opposable thumbs. Somewhere along the line the thought occurred to me, living with a friend is a mutual experience. Sometimes we help them, others they help us. If we’re especially lucky we get to grow together. Growing with each other, each better for the bond and love. Don’t lose hope, don’t give up on offering your help to another friend. Sometimes we lead, sometimes we are led, when we”re lucky we travel with friends.

[JimF]

I'm so sad for you. Our dog is getting old now. She has been the best dog we've ever had. I don't know how we will continue without her. I can imagine how you feel.

[Frank B]

Mike, I am sorry for your lose of Butters. I wish you the best getting over the grief. I like that picture of Butters so much that I bought a copy during one of your print sales. I have it hanging in my foyer.

[Jez Cunningham]

Sincerest condolences.
We lost our Westie, Harry, a little over 3 years ago and miss her often - but a new Cairn terrier puppy* a few months later has filled our lives again. Was a good decision.
* Maisie - who got entered into the recent Bakers Dozen…

[Yonatan Katznelson]

I am very sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is...

My family and I are preparing to say goodbye to Knuckles, our 17 year old cat. He's been with us from early kittenhood (since before my daughter was born). He was fine, until suddenly he wasn't (cancer), and it's time to end his suffering (and begin ours, as someone said above).

[Paul]

Mike, that was a beautiful memorial. Your love for Butters was wonderfully expressed. Someone with that depth of love and compassion, it would seem, should know the surely there is a dog out there somewhere who desperately needs you. You have so much to give, and I hope as time goes by you will once again be able to do it. Having been where you are too many times I can feel, only too well, your loss. Sometimes it seems there is no answer. With time may the answer come.

[Ken James]

I am so sorry Mike. I lost my best friend a year ago, I still see him out of the corner of my eye regularly. Very difficult thing. I too had to put him down. Wonderfully written post today, except for the subject

[Dave Levingston]

I’m very sorry to hear about Butters. You are in my thoughts. I care.

[Rick Twigg]

Damn, Mike I'm sorry. This is a unique, awful pain.

[David]

My condolences.
At this point, I’ve only read half way through, things got a little misty, and I’ll have to read the rest later.
I like to think all dogs have their best life, but I know yours did. From where he started life he was blessed to have the life that he did..
I’ll give our Archie extra pats today.
David

[Daniel]

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”
― Will Rogers

[Gordon Lewis]

There are no words I can say or write that will ease your pain or replace your loss. I can only hope that, with time, you remember more of the joys Butters brought to your life than the sorrows you feel now.

[Steven G Desjardins]

My condolences. I've lost four dogs, and every time it really hurt.

[Mike Plews]

We have been without a dog for about a decade and both Mrs Plews and I miss Duke our Rat Terrier.
When I sit iny favorite chair and drop my hand I miss it landing on his fuzzy little head.
He was a good companion for an amazing seventeen years. Circumstances make it impractical to have another dog and at our age it would ultimately be the dog mourning us and not the other way around.
Dukes predecessor was a yellow lab and they are glorious dogs. Very sorry to hear about Butters passing. You were lucky to find each other.

[Norm]

It’s only been a few weeks since Eva, one of our two rescues had reached the time for her to have to leave us. In some time, I know that the pain and longing for her unquestioning companionship will become less acute. Having been through this with some of our other dogs over many years, I know that she will never really disappear, and that I will be able to think of her and be less sad. I know you are feeling a painful hollow in your life right now, but that can gradually be replaced by memories of Butters’ gift of his presence in your life that are softer, less harsh and contrasty, more impressionistic , but still indelible.

As for sleep, I had encountered this description of the history of biphasic sleep patterns: https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20220107-the-lost-medieval-habit-of-biphasic-sleep

Some activity during those quiet hours in the middle of the “night” seems to help

[Kye Wood]

He may have moved on, but he'll never leave you. Because his love for you is part of you now. That's something you can never lose.

Not that it matters, but that's the best thing you've ever written Mike.

[Bill Bresler]

We've been there, Mike. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It took us 8 years after Sam passed before we could imagine finding another dog, because he/she wouldn't be Sam. But 3 years ago Lily came home with us. She's no Sam, but Sam was no Lily. And that's the way it should be. We are a couple of happy geezers. The endorphins are flowing again.
Be good to yourself, man.

[MikeR]

We're sorry for your loss, Mike. Having met Butters, although briefly, last summer, your sad news is more "real" to us. May the pain fade quickly, and the good memories prevail.

[Brian H]

My deepest sympathies, Mike. I've been dreading this post since you mentioned Butters wasn't doing well. My wife and I had to say goodbye to our beloved greyhound Ellie a few months ago, and it's been much harder than I had expected. I hope the Dogs Baker's Dozen project is a source of comfort and you're able to give yourself the grace you deserve. ❤️

[Christopher John Feola]

>>To be honest, I'm considering adopting a permanent two-part sleep schedule: midnight to 5 a.m., give or take half an hour, and then maybe 9 a.m. to 11 a.m.—writing in between. I struggled with EMAs (early morning awakenings) and insomnia long before Butters got sick at the end of last November. Do you think that would, or do you think it wouldn't, work? It's tempting to try.<<
Actually, that's the way we've evolved to sleep over millions of years. We've been jammed into a new sleep schedule over the last two centuries to fit factory work schedules. But it's not natural for us. Here's a great BBC article on how the majority of humans world-wide slept in two shifts for most of our history: Under the weak glow of the Moon, stars, and oil lamps or "rush lights" – a kind of candle for ordinary households, made from the waxed stems of rushes – people would tend to ordinary tasks, such as adding wood to the fire, taking remedies, or going to urinate (often into the fire itself).
Those of a philosophical disposition, meanwhile, might use the watch as a peaceful moment to ruminate on life and ponder new ideas. In the late 18th Century, a London tradesman even invented a special device for remembering all your most searing nightly insights – a "nocturnal remembrancer", which consisted of an enclosed pad of parchment with a horizontal opening that could be used as a writing guide.
https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20220107-the-lost-medieval-habit-of-biphasic-sleep

Also, what a beautiful eulogy for Butters. Wonderfully written.

[Gary]

So true. An eloquent remembrance.

[Marten Collins]

Mike I have been reading you for over 30 years, you have always been a fine writer but this peace was beautiful. I got my first dog at age 60 17 years ago and last year he died, I had been warned I would be distraught and I still am. Thank you for expressing what I could not.Pax.

[Gerry O'Brien]

You gave Butters a wonderful life, Mike. And he knew it.

[Sean]

I was meant to join my wife for a run, but I told her to go on without me so I could sit quietly by our bedroom window to read about Butters. One day, I’ll run for the last time; I’ll read your words for the last time; I’ll have my picture taken for the last time. I think that way not to be morbid, but to better appreciate life as it unfolds. It’s a mental exercise used by the Stoics called The Last Time Meditation. I’ve never owned a dog in my adult life, but your lament for your beloved companion has helped me understand what I’ve been missing. We should all turn to what we’ll one day miss. And look a little longer.

[Wolfgang Lonien]

So sorry for your loss, Mike. And I felt the same when we lost our cat which had chosen us instead of vice versa.
I once made a song, the original template came from the US, but then a friend from Wales sang on it, and reading her lyrics I think she knows the feeling well, too. I took my bowed bass, an acoustic guitar, and also a fretless bass to play some simple unisono solo part on it:
https://www.wikiloops.com/backingtrack-jam-200491
Broke my heart when I heard her sing that...

[Bob G.]

Mike,
Sorry to hear about your friend, Butters. Your eulogy was beautifully written. My catharsis in dealing with a loved pet is to go and immerse yourself with other ones that need a home after a suitable time. I’ve found that the lost pet sometimes still lives in those that want you to take them home. Not the same, for sure, but helps continuity.

[Luke]

Dude...

[Sarge]

So sorry for your loss, Mike.

[Nikhil Ramkarran]

I offer this solely as a personal acknowledgement and not as a comment to post publicly. I have discovered late in life that I am deeply ADHD and also on the autism spectrum (which is why I feel it necessary to offer this proviso). Apparently ADHD people are often mistaken as "competing" for sympathy when they offer these stories. This is not the case here.

My wife and I bonded over a companion we adopted when we were "courting" 5 or so years ago. She lived about an hour drive from me, on her own, and we found Ginger. He was very loving and affectionate with both of us, but unfortunately died due to a misdiagnosis after just 3 years. We both want him back.

During this period with Ginger I took so many photos, all of which were uploaded to a cloud service which now sends me "On This Day" reminders. It has been so bittersweet recently receiving the many photo reminders of Ginger during the early part of each years as the majority of photos were taken between November and April the first 12 months of having Ginger as our companion.

Ginger eventually lived with us after we were married and my wife began working in the same area so we could live together. It amuses me endlessly to tease her about Ginger being more companiable with me although he lived with her for a year before we were married.

At this point, we have 2 dogs and 3 cats and the family would have been bigger if either me or my wife hadn't failed to exercise some degree of control when the other did not.

I met both Butters and Lula many years ago when I visited you, and I am grateful for having done so. I have been sharing your recent heartbreak with Butters with my wife as she is a deeply caring person. She has expressed her sympathy as I do, for what it's worth.

Apologies for the wall of text.

[Peter]

We have been married for 61 years and have lived with a series of very different dogs (and a couple of cats) during that time.

Eight years ago I had a stroke and after a few days in hospital moved to a rehab facility to relearn how to walk. The second day that I was in rehab, my wife returned home from visiting me and found our Goldendoodle flat on the floor, unable to move. She was very upset and took him to first, an emergency care vet and then to a very sophisticated vet hospital. Ultimately, he passed and I came home under my own power.

Benji, our Goldendoodle, had passed as the result of a stroke. He was 14 but had been in very good shape, walking several miles a day with my wife and being generally active. We had gotten him shortly after I retired and we were very close.
I still wonder that we both "stroked" at pretty much the same time. Maybe we had bonded too strongly?
A year so later we got Buddy, a Labradoodle puppy who is terrific and has filled the void in the house, but Benji lives on, in our memories. Wait a while and get another dog/friend. Much better to be with another, than not.

[Dave B]

You are wrong, Mike. You will not stop missing him over time. I’m 75. I’ve had 2 dogs and 5 cats in those years. 3 of the cats were from one litter, my daughter’s mother cat. I never stopped missing any of them….and I talk to most of them EVERY DAY. Call me crazy…it doesn’t matter…I won’t stop while I’m on this side of the Golden Bridge (Google it,😉)

[Thingo]

Dear Mike,

All the wonderful memories you will always have of Butters. The inexhaustible love shared. Which makes the physical parting, the harder.

I have a print or two of dearly loved companions, though they are imprinted in my memories. (And buried in front of my outside seat.)

Best wishes,
Andrea
from the Antipodes.
(Who hasn't commented for far too long.)

[DaveB]

Mike…it was the Rainbow Bridge…..

[Ritchie Thomson]

So sorry to hear this news, very sad.

When we got our dog Nettie a few years ago, my son who had always been begging for a dog at the last minute said he wasnt sure if we should. I was surprised given how keen he had been, and asked why. He said he knew she wouldnt last forever and didnt want the pain of loss. I talked him round - 'it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all' - that sort of thing. He acquiesced and we came home with Nettie. Now its me thinking how will I cope when the time comes.

[Eric Rose]

I feel for you Mike. So sad.

[Stephen F Faust]

Very sorry to hear that Mike. I don't know you personally but I do know that you were a great dad to Butters. It's good to grieve; take care of yourself.

[Bahi]

Butters had the right owner and he was lucky. That's something to be happy about. Beautiful writing.

[T. Edwards]

So sorry for your loss, Mike.

[Severian]

So very sorry for your loss; your love for Butters was present in everything you ever wrote about him.

[Jed Buchwald]

Zoey lies quietly by side, pressing my leg in the big black chair. I told Diana that I could not have another dog. For my old friend Bucky had come to me in college a half century and more ago. Many years passed. Friends had dogs, but Bucky … Then Zoey, a little furry scoundrel, her eyes so penetrating, so demanding, so loving. Fourteen now, still sprightly, she sleeps all day, dreaming of past chases and romps I suppose. Time is inexorable.

[Luiz Kamnitzer]

Dear Mike, really sorry for your loss. Unfortunately I know very well how it feels, as I went thru this with my beloved GSP some years ago. Till today I miss him a lot, and will never be able to have other dog.

Only time will help you.

Best regard
Luiz

[Linda Hensley]

Mike,

"There is nothing - NOTHING - like the love that fills the space between animals and people".

I understand your pain and I am grieving with you.

"Grief I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest.
Grief is love with no place to go."

Mike - We are energy, our bodies are simply a tool used to navigate this lifetime. Energy never dies. Butters will be waiting for you, just around the corner.

I love you cuz.

[Tex Andrews]

So sorry to hear, and sincere condolences. The sheer number of comments you're getting---more than I've seen in a lot of funeral home ledgers---shows how much we all understand.

We had to euthanize our best dog ever, Winslow Homer, last September. We were bereft, but he was 15 and had a rich life with us and our family, our daughters included. A true Nimrod! What a hunter! Took to our marvelous son-in-law immediately. He never liked my father and his 3rd wife, so he was a good judge of human character as well.

We now have a new dog, Jiri Hari Hami, same breed, but this one we got a lot later than Winslow. He's challenging in the way Your Butters was, so I'm encouraged to hear your story. Ours survived hurricane Helene and a month before that a tornado with 2 inch hail. Also a stray (Winslow was not). but he's just so attached to us now after only a couple of months. Taking him to the dog park right now.

[Ken Ford]

My condolences, Mike. I always liked seeing Butters make appearances here.

[Herman Krieger]

Mobile vet treating the office w(help)-

[Brenden Kootsey]

I am very sorry for your loss, Mike.

[Ken]

We went through that process five times, most recently at the end of March. All rescues, with issues we had to work through, but all of them amazing in their own way. And we just adopted another rescue a couple of weeks ago. The ending never gets easier, but the rewards of dog ownership makes the end bearable. Hang in there, and hang on to the memories. Good luck.

[Thomas Paris]

My most sincere condolences. Our thoughts are with you.
Your beautifully written prose makes it clear how much he meant to you. And makes it clear how much Xander does as well, so don't you worry about that. But I can only imagine how much you must be hurting right now.
Take care of yourself. Our thoughts are with you and we'll still be here when you can come back.

[marcin wuu]

I had to murder my cat last month. People usually say "put down", but I gotta call it what it was. She was fifteen, bad cancer. There was no way to put it off, she was in bad shape, leaving bloody traces all over the place, not eating much. But she wasn't ready to go, still very much alive and conscious, as much as cats can be. The worst part wa, when the butcher, pardon, the vet was about to stick the needle into her, she managed to break free. And of all the places she could pick to hide in the office, she chose to run to me, and climb into my arms. Trusting I'll protect her, no doubt. Instead, in the act of absolute, total, betrayal, I handed her over back to the vet. It broke my heart. I'm not one to use such clichés, I don't read romantic novels and don't cry at the movies, but it absolutely broke my heart. Left a cat shaped hole in it.
People say cats don't love. I saved this creature from the basement of a building slated for demolishing. She was with me for fifteen years, through several moves, watching my kid growing, she was with me when I lived in the bottle, never judging. And she ran to me in that final moment.
I feel for ya, Mike. It's so bloody hard. They say get another cat. It's not a bleepin' refrigerator, you don't get a new one when the old one breaks.
I'm babbling. Sorry mate. I just, I dunno, I know what you're going through, I guess that's what I'm trying to say.

[James Weekes]

So sorry for your loss.

[Paul Bass]

RIP, good boy.

[Guy Couture]

Dear Mike
all your readers are behind you in your loss. Even for those of us who don't have pets we easily understand and feel your pain.
Your text shows so much of your humanity. It resonates in all of us. And that picture of Butters is a beautiful one. You show us your love for him.
I wish you good luck.

[Andrew Lamb]

I am so very sorry for your loss, Mike.

I can't think of anything wise or consoling to say. They break your heart. It's a loss you never get over, even if you own another dog who is also special in their own way.

Deepest condolences.

[Caleb Courteau]

My deepest condolences, Mike. This is a beautifully written tribute to a dear friend.

My wife and I lost our cat, Vita, last year. We also had to go through the agonizing process of choosing the “right” moment to put her down. She was a quirky cat, but deeply loving. She was intimidated by people standing or walking, and would skitter away like a cockroach when you approached her. However, once you were seated she would promptly hop on your lap and mash her face against yours, emitting deep purrs.

I watched her take her last breath as the euthanasia took hold, and stroked her head as she faded out. I haven’t cried that much in years.

[David Dyer-Bennet]

It sounds like Butters was hugely lucky to have found you. And you to have found him, for that matter.

I've gotten a lot of pleasure out of your photos and anecdotes about him over the years.

[Steve Bull]

I’m so sorry about Butters. I’ve had to say goodbye to many furry family members over the years, both dogs and cats, and it never gets easier. I lost one of the toughest last September, Trifle, one of the sweetest Corgis that ever lived. There’s a very long story with that relationship, bottle-fed as a puppy from birth and became a constant companion. We’re all here for you Mike.

[James]

Some of my darkest days were the end of my dogs' - my best mates' - lives. I do not underestimate your grief.

You do write beautifully at times like these. I hope this truly personal and eloquent essay gave you some comfort. It should.

[Andy]

Mike,
Sorry for your loss. It's clear from your prose how much Butters meant to you. Although that's also been clear from your writing over many years.
My best wishes,
Andy

[Jim Kofron]

You were extraordinarily fortunate to have had Butters in your life. Butters was tremendously lucky to have you in his. In fact, we're all very fortunate to know you in various ways here Mike. Peace and love to you, and do be tender with yourself.