My friend Paul had to put down Bear, his beloved 11-year-old black Lab. Bear’s lungs gave out, and Paul did the humane thing, although not without, in his words, crying hard and often. Every dog lover understands, for we know all too well how our dogs love us.
My mini bernedoodle, Sugaree, meets me at the door when she hears me on the front porch steps. She jumps in anticipation—all four legs catching air—until I enter the hallway. It’s a love that doesn’t diminish.
This is my welcome every weeknight when I come home from work. I haven’t split the atom, ended world hunger or even brought her a new chew toy, yet I am honored like Pompey the Great in his third Roman triumph.
This nightly greeting has two effects on me. First, it makes me want to be better, to be worthy of such love. This reflection, in turn, helps me to love God, whose perfect love never ceases to draw me out from my own imperfections, from the man I am to the man I should be.
Second, it reminds me how silly it is to think I can love too many people or anyone too much. If loving is willing the good of the other, then there is no upper limit to it. This insight helps me strive to love my neighbor and to be an instrument of peace. Sugaree is my role model, as Bear was Paul’s.
— Mike Kerrigan, from “Our Dog, Who Art in Heaven” (wsj.com, January 3, 2023)
