Loss of My Writing Partner Dog

On Valentine’s Day, while I was away on vacation, my dog Daniel passed away in his sleep. He was ten years old, and his death was completely unexpected. The day before, he had gone on two walks and happily greeted friends who were caring for him while I was away. I received a phone call informing me that he simply sighed and passed away while stretched out on a king-sized bed.

Daniel at 7 months

Daniel was half Doberman, about twenty percent Boxer, and twenty percent Newfoundland. When I adopted him at six months old, he was scheduled to be euthanized at the shelter within the week. I like to think I gave him ten extra years. I had expected we would have at least four more.

Daniel and I visited the wildflower bloom in CA

We attended quite a few obedience classes together, and he even earned his Canine Good Citizen certificate. Ironically, that certificate marked the one and only time he ever obeyed the command “come.” If he slipped loose outside, he ran like the wind and was nearly impossible to catch.

Like many puppies, he caused his share of early chaos. Before I learned the value of a crate, he chewed through several pairs of shoes, and the local shoe repair shop became very familiar with me. He also nibbled the corner of my dining room table, which thankfully was repairable.

Daniel helps grandma celebrate her 90th birthday

Now there’s a king-sized hole in my life. I see reminders of him everywhere. Daniel was the bridge that helped me meet my neighbors when I first moved here, and my watch keeps notifying me that I’m walking much less each day.

Memorials to Daniel

Friends and neighbors have been incredibly kind, even creating artwork to remember him. For now, his ashes sit beside my parents’ ashes. When spring or summer arrives, I’ll bury Daniel beneath his favorite tree—the one that always seemed to have squirrels worth watching.

Daniel and Lucy keeping me company while writing

At more than eighty pounds, Daniel had his own big chair where he would nap while I typed away beside him. He supervised the writing of twenty-four of my twenty-eight books.

My cat noticed his absence immediately. She paced and called out for nearly a week after I returned home without him. I adopted her when she was only ten days old, so she likely thought of Daniel as her parent. She loved to rub against him and curl up beside him, while he mostly regarded her with disdain and a steady growl. She may have interpreted that growl as purring.

In a few weeks I’ll likely find another large rescue dog to love. I had planned to begin that search after my next trip, but I’ve been called for jury duty, which complicates things for the moment. I’m quietly hoping my background might get me dismissed—I’ve written crime novels, attended the Writer’s Police Academy, and completed the Community Police Academy. It’s not that I object to doing my civic duty. It’s just that jurors’ time rarely seems to matter as much as everyone else’s.

For now, I’m simply grateful for the ten years Daniel and I had together.

— Alec