The love of a dog is spoken about, written about, been attempted to be summed up in words time and time again.
Every attempt falls short in some way or another.
That is no fault on the speakers, the writers, the dog lovers among us that try their best to sum up what it is like to have something, someone, a living that loves you as unconditionally as a dog.
It’s impossible. Words cannot describe a love that pure.
In our lives, a few of these furry creatures will come into your life and change them in some way. Every single one, with all their quirks, their mannerisms, the little things you take for granted, the stories, the vet bills, the adventures the walks, the naps, and everything in between will stick with you forever.
To say Tigger was a unique dog was an understatement, and to describe his uniqueness in a few sentences is futile. He was supposedly ‘full-grown’ when we adopted him around 50 pounds, just for him to balloon over 100 pounds for most of his life. He never went hungry, regardless of who took care of him.
He was, at one time, a tremendous athlete. With his speed and jumping ability, we expected him to catch the stray rabbit or squirrel at some point. Unfortunately for him, his knees were not built for what he wanted to do, and three knee surgeries later, his athletic days were over. Regardless, he still loved to play with other dogs, run around the backyard and the neighborhood, and treat the house like it was his own, alerting us to intruding cars and approaching guests.
He was the ultimate protector, to a fault at times. He was always watching over our family and would let you know if he thought you meant harm to one of his own. He may have hit our dad with friendly fire once or twice, but only because he thought he was breaking the ultimate rule, messing with our mom, but we all knew he never meant to do anyone harm. He just had to make sure the people, and the person he loved the most, were safe.
That’s the biggest part of Tigger that may explain him the best; he LOVED our mom. Where I will inevitably fail to accurately describe the love he and our mom shared.
When he was adopted, he was the lone dog without anyone in front of his cage. It would’ve been easy to miss him with the group of puppies in the cage right next door, drawing crowds that blocked the view of Tigger to other adopters.
But my mom saw him, and she has told us many times how she stuck her hand through his cage and felt his nose nuzzle up against her finger. From that moment, he was ours, and without question, he was hers.
As Tigger grew up, he only grew closer to my mom. Their bond was the indescribable part of being a dog owner. When we went out and left Tigger at home, it was a countdown to when my mom would say “I miss my dog.” When mom left for any amount of time, Tigger was stuck to the window, waiting for his mom to come home. He sensed her better than we did; when she felt physically or mentally unwell, Tigger knew.
Somehow, he knew she was the one who saved his life, and he made it his job to protect her life for the rest of his.
I started a job in South Dakota in mid-March, but a new opportunity in Michigan allowed me to be home this weekend. He came into me, leaned into me as he always did to say “hey man, give me some love,” and I was able to do just that.
We have never experienced what we experienced on Monday, Memorial Day morning. When our companions passed, we knew something was wrong. My parents had to do the hardest part of any dog owner’s life, deciding to end the suffering of a dog past their day. I always thought that having to make that decision was harder than the alternative.
But at least then, you have a chance to say goodbye. You get a chance to say ‘I love you’ one last time. To hold their paw, and let them know they are safe. We didn’t get that opportunity with Tigger. That is really hurting all of us right now, but especially my mom.
However, if we could’ve asked Tigger, I don’t know if he would’ve had it any other way. He fell asleep, guarding his momma one final time. He did his job until the very end.
He was our boy, and we thank him forever for a job well done.
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