In loving memory of Doogie (the dog) Howser (January 1 6, 2010-December 27, 2023)
I wish I could say Happy New Year. But I’m starting 2024 with one less set of muddy paws to clean up after when it’s rained. One less bowl to fill in my morning and evening routine. One less wagging tail following me around the house. One less load of laundry — doggie diapers for my old man who marked his territory on every appliance and door frame or anything new that was placed on the floor.
Just over a week ago, my long-haired dachshund Doogie Howser let out his chirpy bark demanding breakfast. When the bowl was empty, he commenced his daily ritual of licking it clean as its steel bottom clanged across the tiles. He then made the rounds on the grounds of his kingdom — our backyard — hiked his leg on everything in sight and yapped big-bad-dog borks at the neighbors’ pups through the chain-link fence. Just over a week ago, he sat at my feet as I stood at the sink doing dishes, gently licking my bare ankle, as he always did.
But a week ago, I laid next to him in bed, rubbing his ears, petting his head, and kissing his face, telling him I loved him more than anything, he was the best boy in the world, and that everything was okay. I stayed awake awaiting a moment I’d been dreading for more than 13 years. At approximately 12:45 a.m. on Wednesday, December 27th, Doogie took his final breath, his heart beat for the last time, three weeks shy of his 14th birthday.
Without going into more detail than I can comfortably relive, the end came both gradually and suddenly. A yearlong battle with chronic bronchitis and a more recent but brief bout of neurological issues led to what we think was a stroke or massive seizure. I was out of town when the latter happened, and by the time I returned, he was fading fast. I spent those last hours alongside him, keeping him as comfortable as I could, loving on him until his little body shut down.
I never wanted to write (or say) these words. I knew this day would come, of course — and that I wouldn’t able to handle the grief. Having never had human children, Doogie was my first “child.” When looking at a litter of puppies in early 2010, I knew that the itty-bitty chocolate nugget with big ol’ eyes and tiny legs and a head he’d have to grow into was mine. A few weeks later, I brought him home. He was so very small, I put him into my coat pocket just because I could. So very fragile, this miniature cuddly creature. I jokingly said, “How am I going to keep this thing alive?” But I did, for as long as I could.
As most dog parents do, I took him on car rides, road trips, and park outings, and to work with me on occasion. He was a star no matter where we were. Everyone who met him spoke of how handsome he was, his impressive mane and feathered tail that waved like a flag as he pranced. “Regal” and “majestic” were common descriptors. He’d sit in anyone’s lap and lick wet spots on their pants; it was his way of showing affection, or more likely, asking, “Could you pet me more now?” After we welcomed two more pups (his offspring) in 2015, there was less of that. Three were harder to manage in public, taking just one wasn’t fair, and his son and daughter were not the docile dogs Doogie had always been. So, I have regrets. Were there enough walks? Enough outings? He loved people, and we didn’t have as much company after the pandemic. We didn’t have an office to go to. But he did get a lot of love and cuddles and my constant presence, especially working from home, which I have to tell myself was just fine for him. And even with all the vet visits, did I do enough to manage his health? Could I have saved him, given him more time? I think I did my best but cannot dwell on the what-ifs. Even as he aged, until his last day on Earth, he was the happiest boy, excited to wake and eat and run around the yard and climb on me like a mountain goat to get to my face for kisses. He comforted me through my worst days, loved me when I felt unlovable. Just as they say about children, you blink and they’re grown. I wish I could rewind time. I’d do anything to wash those pee diapers now. Just one more ankle lick.
Losing Doogie, my Grinch-toed 8-pound shadow, my constant companion, who was under foot or in my lap day in and day out for nearly 14 years, is the biggest hurt I may have ever endured. But to have raised him has been my biggest gift.
Doogie Howser had many names — Doogers, Dougles, Bo, Sugar Prince, Love Boy, Hims, the list goes on. But above all, he was my son, my greatest love — my heart. And a piece of it now has gone with him over the rainbow bridge.
