See you next time, Doglander

On Monday, our family dog, Archie, was put to sleep at our neighborhood veterinarian’s office. An X-ray revealed cancer in his lungs and stomach. Made comfortable and wrapped in a blanket from home, he slipped peacefully out of this world. I am unaccustomed to the unpredictability of the swift swells of grief that have surged through me the past few days. Each rush has a unique flavor, showing me pain from new angles and casting piercing light — the kind that is almost too bright to look at directly. In that light, I keep returning to my most cherished memories of Archie, and to the impressions he left on my heart about loving your life, and about the strength of a good family, the kind that gathers around you and lifts you up.

Archie came into our lives unexpectedly about ten years ago. On my 15th birthday, we took him in as a skittish shelter pup. I came home from school that day to find him huddled against the couch, keeping perfectly still and alert. We were afraid he would run away, which he did one afternoon that first week. We waited up with the front door open, optimistic that he would, if not want to return, realize our house might be his best option. It was storming that evening, and I remember seeing the lightning illuminate his wet brown fur on the porch, his nose in the bowl of food we left out. Once he saw us see him and beckon him inside, he fled again. But, he came back, and before long, Archie made his home with us. This will have to do.   

Archie kept to his own schedule. With infinite options for his lounging pleasure, Archie trotted around the main level like a Victorian lady choosing her fainting couch: the gingham pad by the back door (cozy), the cool metal studs of the couch (excellent for leaning), or the ropey rug in the sitting room (perfect texture). So many places to nap; such important decisions to make. We always wondered how he made these little calculations. They seemed to have no pattern, no reason, but we could be sure that some combination of doggy neurons were firing — completely imperceptible to us, but their meaning perfectly clear to Archie. Clear enough for him to raise his head, look around, stand up, stretch, walk a little, stretch again, and move deliberately to another spot across the house. Sometimes he wanted to be where we were, but sometimes not. Archie had his own private existence, I think. Once he realized the water bowl would always be full and that his family would always return through the garage door — after hours, or days, or even weeks — he settled into a peaceful life of his own. He lived with us, but also slightly apart, certain that his needs would be met. No dog has ever risen higher. 

Archie was also known to lounge out-of-doors. Once he’d accepted the golfers who teed off beside our house as part of the landscape, he liked to lie in the sunshine in the fresh pine straw by the garage, and carve secret paths through the large hedge running along the screened-in porch. Once, when my Papa was watching him for us, he was convinced Archie had run off and drove around the neighborhood, even showing a photo of his brown furry face to the mail carrier. The mystery was solved only when Archie finally scampered out from under the hedge — unbothered — having never once considered emerging while Papa was whistling and calling his name.   

Archie had firm boundaries: the pool was a no-go; the new deck was too unfamiliar; walking on the new basketball court was unthinkable. But, a true outdoorsman, he had a thirst for adventure, and was resilient in the face of uncertainty and pain. About a year ago, Archie and I were home alone. I let him outside, and when I went to look for him, he wasn’t in any of his usual spots. Within minutes, a search party featuring both my immediate and extended family had assembled. We tried to construct a profile — a kind of canine modus operandi to narrow the radius. “He took off into the woods toward the river the other day, and I had to call him back with treats,” my mom offered as we brainstormed. My brother and my dad had already scoured the woods around our house. “How could he have gotten so far away so quickly?” I said. “He’s on new arthritis medicine,” my mom said knowingly. Indeed, his speed and determination might be greater than we thought.

We deployed: some of us on foot, tracking him through the dense woods, and some of us by car, hoping to catch him appearing out of a neighbor’s backyard. Updates and theories flew through the group chat. Then, a clue came in: a reply on the neighborhood Facebook page from a watchful woman who had spotted a brown dog matching his description. We closed in on the area, and sure enough, my uncle Jason and my cousin Grace found him soon after — at least a mile away — and escorted him home. My entire family was gathered by the door when he arrived, as if he would tell us all about it. His nose was covered in mud, and he drank a full bowl of water — then another — before collapsing happily on the white carpet in the living room. We were left to wonder what he had done, what he had seen, and what he had felt.

Archie was a special dog. He was different from other dogs — not so eager to please, not much interested in treats or toys. I always joked that his peculiarities made perfect sense if you accepted that he was actually a time traveler. “Doglander,” we called him. Perhaps he had wandered down from the Appalachian mountains during the Civil War, the chaos and gunsmoke and bloody battles leaving their mark on him. It would certainly explain his suspicion of certain men. My dad and Archie were on good terms — my dad scratched his head just the right way and always slipped him chicken skin — but Archie never failed to bark at him when he walked in, never let him forget he wasn’t entirely cool with him being there. “He was forced by colonizers to guard diamond mines in Rhodesia,” I would say. “Men made him do that. It’s a trauma response.” So of course — that explained it. Archie never quite had the innocent look of a dog who hasn’t seen some shit. 

If Archie really is a time traveler, I am so grateful he travelled to where we are. We enjoyed life together so much, and no dog was ever so pondered over, treasured, and loved. Archie’s secret paths through our world will last forever. 

See you next time, Doglander.