Underrated Stories Presents
The Power of Dogs
Paying homage to a late-pup and all those canine companions who commandeer our hearts
It took my mom several years to convince her husband, our dad, to add a dog to the family. He had grown up with only cats and loathed the idea of extra vacuuming, dirty paw prints, and chewed up furniture. His reluctance, we are told, was ironclad for a long time.
But her persistence paid off and eventually, he caved. They agreed on a golden retriever, not unlike the one shown in the feature image, mostly thanks to a family friend up the street who owned two — they seemed friendly enough, despite all the hair, and dad could point to some familiarity ahead of a commitment.
My siblings and I were ten, eight, and five at the time of the Christmas morning surprise delivery. Our parents were not prone to fulfilling such a stereotype, kids getting a puppy for Christmas, but with the timing of the breeder, it just worked out that way.
And, why not? It’s a cool story.
I will never forget racing down the stairs expecting only the “usual” Christmas routine — tired parents with big cups of coffee, wrapped presents lined under the lit tree, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. And as we hit the bottom landing, wondering what dad was doing on the other side of the room, there he came running from behind the couch and into our arms.
From that moment on, life would never be the same. We were dog people now.
As young kids, having a dog taught us an important form of responsibility — caring for something that relied on you where neglect would mean severely dire and messy consequences.
With time, as the routine of who did what, when, and how eased, responsibility created companionship. We enjoyed taking care of this domestic beast; cleaning up after him each day; providing food, water, and exercise; going for rides in the car to visit friends, or explore wooded areas unleashed.
And he reciprocated the favor of attention and care. Dogs are conditional animals, trainable, and responsive to food and praise. But they are also pack animals, naturally wired to attach to a unit as a way of daily life, for life.
Our first dog, Ranger, lived for ten years. He was born with a defect to his tail that warranted a 50% discount to the puppy price tag, and it was rumored he would be put down if never sold. While that might have just been part of the sales pitch, my mom was not leaving without that dog.
He fit right in, showcasing the benevolent tendencies of a golden retriever while wagging the curled and deformed tail seemingly without pain. After a few years, dad would admit that “Christmas music and dogs were mom’s most successful conversions” in his life.
The power of dogs emerged early and often.
There is one simple moment that stands out the most during Ranger’s life. When I was a young teenager, the family would gather at dad’s sister’s house just a mile up the street. My cousin and I, at times, acted like oil and water, fighting to the point of tears and boiling frustration.
I sat on their front porch, catching my breath before going back into the party when the urge to flee after such a fight arose — I stood up and began a dead sprint towards home. Someone had seen me, alerted my parents, who then caught up by car at the top of the street.
When we entered the front door a few minutes later, the dog pulled himself out of his evening slumber and off of the couch, waiting curiously in the kitchen, tail wagging, as if wondering if everything was OK.
The sight of him with his tired eyes and couch-pressed coat elicited a visceral response — I lunged towards him for a big hug and felt immediate relief. He grunted excitedly, also typical of most if not all golden retrievers, sharing in the relief that we were home.
The relationship would go on like that for the whole family until the day he died, Thanksgiving 2006. After 10 years of happy, lazy, suburban life, something shorted in his brain, and his motor skills began to dwindle. The day you realize that your dog, a member of the family, has only a few hours or days to live carries the weight of 1,000 sad songs.
The gravity of such a reality differs from the loss of a human. The goodbye is one-sided, a selfish tug-of-war between letting go and holding on for just a little while longer. It is acceptance with the hope that all dogs do truly go to heaven, and that he or she is in a better place, chasing sticks into rivers and frisbees on the biggest turf field in the afterworld.
But back on Earth, a void emerges. Dogs leave behind their bed, toys, food, bowls, leashes, collars, and treats — some kept as a memento alongside photos, some passed down to current dog owners, some tossed reluctantly into the trash.
Dog owners willingly enter a short-term agreement with their pets. Having children is a long game, one with implications that “One day you will take care of ME, the way I once took care of YOU.”
But dogs enter their prime 5–6 years into the relationship if they’re lucky. Every owner rues the day that they first notice the white fur begin to form around their eyes and lips — one part regal, one part sad, for it symbolizes canine senility, the beginning of the end.
By the time they reach 9–10 years of age, a slow, solemn, sadness begins to form that one day this creature that has taught a form of unconditional love that few humans could ever dream to recreate will cease to exist.
Knowing all of that, we still take the plunge. That is the power of dogs.
The majority of dog owners, after savoring the unconditional love that domestic canines bring home, will fill the void left after loss with another dog. The speed and breed of this next chapter vary by situation, but for my family, it was more of the same after just over a year.
I was working at a local pet store when a gorgeous golden retriever walked in with his owner for a bath. The shop had installed nine self-serve wash stations, so my exposure to dogs of all shapes, sizes, and temperaments persisted, especially on the weekends.
When the owner had finished their business and “Charlie” was back in the car, I asked if they recommended their breeder. They did, provided the information, and within a few months, my mom was on the list to pick a puppy out of a future litter.
Here we go again.
Like Ranger, I’ll never forget the first time meeting Hogan. I was a junior in college, home for a weekend (specifically to meet him), where he and my brother were waiting in the driveway for a proper introduction.
We soaked up the familiar newness of life with an adorable puppy. The smell of an eight-week-old coat, the high-pitched bark, the feel of little teeth on your fingers, and the attention required to prevent accidents inside the house — it was all coming back to us, undoubtedly providing that love-induced dopamine hit first experienced some twelve years prior.
Hogan carried no deformities unless you consider a lack of enthusiasm for fetch odd enough. His tail wagged fast and straight, a new sight for us as owners, and we took him as our own instantly. He, too, took to us and the two-year-old void was suddenly filled.
Dogs mark periods of our lives — decades of experience that they are assigned to share. Finishing college and beginning post-grad life is difficult, but guess who I could always rely on for a specific kind of comfort when needed? Hogan.
He was no drug, incapable of covering up the problems at hand, but if the world was ever too loud or tumultuous that I needed a break, a long walk in the woods or a nap on the couch with him by my side would ease that burden.
And the excitement was mutual. It was uncanny how intuitive his sense of “going for a walk” or “a car ride” would blossom with the sight of running shoes, the rustling of a poop bag, or the clang of a leash.
His superpower was a direct line to the soul. That is the power of dogs.
Hogan passed away last week after 12.5 legendary years. He left behind all his toys, etc., holding on as long as he possibly could to witness what our lives had become. He shepherded us through good times and bad, never failing to “make it better” when in need.
In this next chapter, just into its infancy, there is another dog owned by my brother, his wife, and their newborn baby girl. My fiance and I have moved to another state, naturally scheming to get our own puppy “when the time is right…” My sister, too, will rescue her future soul mate. And if I were a betting man, my parents will cave into getting their third under the roof.
Losing Hogan brought back bittersweet memories of Thanksgiving 2006, never easy to recount and experience, but we’re forever grateful for our time with him. Even writing about his effect on me and us brings tears to my eyes, and I am not known to cry. When people ask what I miss about home, where I used to live, the answer without fail is always, “My dog.”
A picture taken in 2013 hangs on my wall that sums up all I am trying to say about these domesticated beasts who have found a way into our lives and hearts. Hogan is sitting on a trail in the woods during one of our many hikes, obliging to pose for a picture mid-run after I asked kindly, not knowing that it would be such an important moment captured in time.
He is smiling, panting, looking over my shoulder at what might be a squirrel or some other woodsy creature. I was between jobs, fallen on hard times, and this afternoon in the woods with him helped to clear my head and come up with a plan for my next move. He never strayed, even alternating who lead on the trail like the loyal pack animal that he was. We would replicate that moment hundreds of times, each one better than before.
He’s just a dog, doing what he instinctively knows to do, and we are so lucky to have something like that in our lives. For all the people out there who are afraid, allergic, or generally appalled by the idea of having something like that in the house, I understand.
But for everyone else, the ones who are still reading, perhaps with tears in your eyes like I, again, have running down my face (damnit Hogan!), hug your dogs tight.
They are an unreplicated gift in this crazy human experiment we are so fortunate to live. They bless us with their unrelenting spirit and surprise us daily with their love.
That is the power of dogs.
