EasePease life: RIP my dear pal, Porter

I have never been an avid dog enthusiast. While I do not harbor animosity towards dogs, my aversion primarily stems from my childhood experience with a dog. This canine companion provided me with a sense of security and optimism, offering protection and companionship. However, when I was approximately eleven years old, my beloved dog passed away, marking the first instance of profound emotional pain I had ever experienced. Consequently, I refrained from seeking a dog for the remainder of my youth, as I was acutely aware of the likelihood of their premature demise, a sentiment that I found deeply distressing.

My father, on the other hand, had a profound affection for dogs. Upon the passing of a canine companion, he promptly replaced it with a new pet. One fateful day, I inadvertently let my father’s dogs out of the house to relieve themselves, resulting in one of them escaping. Despite my efforts to locate them, I was compelled to return to my sophomore year at North Dakota State University. Upon returning home, my father discovered the note I had left, which informed him that I was no longer permitted to return to the house. He subsequently found the dog that evening, but our relationship soured. His anger was palpable, and I realized that he held a greater affection for his dogs than for his children or wife. While I had previously entertained this notion, this incident provided concrete evidence to support it. The emotional turmoil I experienced was profound, as it juxtaposed the love I had once felt for a dog with the pain that this love had replaced the love I had for my father’s children.

Later that week, my sister informed my father that she was engaged to an African American man. He essentially instructed her to leave and never return. The relationship was deeply strained. I informed my mother that I intended to give her away at the wedding, and my father told her that I was no longer his son and that she should never speak to me again. That is another story—we talked about it five years later.

Returning to dogs, I have always been responsible for their care. Unlike the cats on the farm, I always felt that dogs were unfortunate animals that were not typically self-sufficient. Consequently, my heart and soul always went into parenting mode when it came to dogs. There is a need to care for those in need and demonstrate kindness, but never develop an attachment. This was the same for my girlfriend of nearly two decades. When we met, we had the older dog, Annie (a Golden Retriever), and Jackson (another Golden Retriever) for a while. Jackson was young when I met him. I developed an attachment, but not close enough to experience pain.

Therefore, my attachment to a pet was still considered neutral in my mind. Recently, however, my heart has recognized that this has changed.

Within months of Jackson’s passing (Fall 2014), Shelley introduced Porter to the family (April 2015). Porter was a male Golden Retriever. She believed that Porter would be her last dog, as she anticipated that he would be approximately 67 years old when he passed away (assuming he was 12-13 years old). Porter was a well-behaved puppy who was particularly drawn to me.

Porter became a cherished companion in my life. He possessed an uncanny ability to recognize my scent, and whenever I was a block away riding my bicycle home, he would eagerly leap into the air to greet me. I would take him on rides with my bicycle, and he would obediently follow my commands to stop, start, turn left, and turn right as we leisurely traversed the neighborhood at speeds exceeding 10 miles per hour.

On most nights, Porter preferred to sleep near me. When I was unwell, he remained near me. When I left to visit my son, Shelley would send me photographs, and it was evident that he was experiencing a state of depression. Upon my return, he would always greet me with an exuberant display of affection that surpassed anything I had witnessed before. Porter was, indeed, an exceptional friend and a source of immense comfort to me.

Approximately four weeks ago, Porter was gravely ill. He was afflicted with tumors and growths that were deemed inoperable, and his health was deteriorating rapidly. We were faced with the difficult decision to end his life at the age of eight and a half years, as this would constitute a whole life for Porter. I was overcome with devastation and a profound sense of loss, as I was losing a significant part of myself. It was a deeply painful experience.

Although I still harbor resentment towards my father, I believe I have gained a deeper understanding of his profound love for his dogs. My father passed away in May, and that is a topic for a separate entry on a later date. We were unable to reconcile our past, and it is unlikely that we will ever achieve that.

This period has been particularly challenging for me. When I am experiencing moments of depression, I find solace in writing lyrics to express my anguish. I have accumulated over fifty stones, primarily composed of sad emotions, as I find that I am most effective in conveying my pain through writing. Here is a song that I composed titled “When Dogs Die, Do They Go to Heaven”:

The sun sets another golden day

Memories linger every waking day

We were close; my faithful friend

Never wanting the bond to end

With tear-filled eyes, I said goodbye.

Underneath the painted twilight sky

Your tail wagged one last time, so gentle and kind

Leaving paw prints forever on my mind

When dogs die, do they go to heaven

Do they run free where angels play

Chasing dreams in fields of clover

Left me with pain when their life is over