Dogs are Good

An ode to Mandy

I often joke that if I need to make myself cry, I only need to think about the ending of the 1993 Disney animal adventure movie Homeward Bound to do it.

I grew up watching the movie and, as a kid, the ending never made me cry.

It can’t make you cry until you’ve lost a dog.

Before the final scene, our heroes — Sassy the cat, Champ the puppy, and Shadow the old dog — are at a rail station. They’re finally back in their hometown after an arduous journey. Suddenly, Shadow falls down a mud pit. Due to his age and injury, he can’t climb his way out. Shadow tells the other two pets to go on without him, though they protest. Shadow tells the puppy he’s taught him everything he knows and now “you have to learn how to say goodbye”. Us, the viewers, are heartbroken.

The film cuts away to the pets’ family, waiting at their house for any update as to the location of Chance, Sassy, and Shadow. Jamie, the youngest, spots something coming out of woods in their backyard — it’s Chance! The adorable little boy runs to his puppy and Chance licks up his face, relieved to be back home. Then Sassy trots out of the woods, the middle child scooping her up and squeezing her, saying “I’ll never let you go, never ever ever!” The parents are relieved for their two youngest, but they watch their oldest kid, Peter, keep looking towards the woods.

Peter’s about to grow up in that moment. He’ll experience the sad reality that disappointment is more likely than a miracle. Life will break your heart, often when you don’t deserve it. The parents know that, and they brace themselves.

“He was too old,” Peter says, bitterly. “He was just too old.” He turns away, calcifying his heart. His childhood is gone in that moment, he knows it. He walks toward the house.

But then, the parents see something emerge from the trees.

It’s Shadow!

Peter senses his family’s reaction and turns. His face lights up and he sprints to the limping Shadow, calling his name over and over again. Peter gets to live in miracles and happy endings for a little longer. Shadow begins to run to Peter, and they collapse into one another, embracing and laughing with relief.

“Oh Peter! I worried about you,” Shadow says. “I missed you so much. I love you.”

I cry every time Shadow emerges from the woods because, in that moment, it’s as if every dog you’ve ever lost comes back to love you.

There is nothing like a dog’s unconditional love.

Up until last Friday, I’d loved and lost two dogs.

Like a good Midwestern family, they were both Labrador retrievers. Brandy was two years older than me, and a month after her 15th birthday, she had a stroke while laying out on our driveway as my siblings and I played in our front yard. She could only lift her head, and we all tearfully said goodbye. My parents took her to the vet, and she was put down. That night I had to perform as Cosette in a non-musical youth theater production of Les Miserables, and was frustrated I couldn’t cry real tears when Jean Veljean died.

We already had Sandy for a couple years at that point. The runt of her litter, she was a chunky, happy, not-so-sharp dog. I remember picking her up from the breeder and having her sit in my lap on the ride home. Eleven years later, in the summer of 2010, I was away in New Hampshire doing a non-union Shakespeare festival and deep in the throes of my substance issues. I got a call from my folks saying Sandy was riddled with lymphoma, and treatment wasn’t a viable option. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, and she died a few days later. I had my bottom the night she died, and haven’t touched a drink or drug since.

Unbeknown to me, Mandy was already alive at that point. A Canadian dog born on the 4th of July, 2010. Despite being almost-empty-nesters, my mom decided they needed another dog and set her sights on this Red Fox Lab litter on the other side of the border. I was a little over a month sober when I visited my family that August, and happened to be there when we picked up Mandy from the breeder. Her parents were service animals, so Mandy was very smart and keenly intuitive about people’s feelings. My sister and I took turns having this puppy on our laps as our mom drove us back to the house.

(All these dogs were named in honor of my mom’s childhood dog, Candy. We love a tradition.)

Mandy was the smartest, sweetest, most loving dog of all. She always knew when you needed a snuggle or a nudge, and she never stopped wagging her tail. She was amazing at tricks, and a lot of my friends looked forward to seeing “Mandy videos” when I’d visit my hometown. I could always remember her age because it was the same as my sobriety time, only a 9 day difference.

It broke my heart to see her start to deteriorate as 2022 turned into 2023. Mandy’s spirit was strong — like Shadow and Chance or Brandy and Sandy, she was coaching my sister’s new puppy Ruby — but her body was betraying her. It was hard for her to keep down food, and she rapidly lost weight in a matter of months. Physical existence grew harder and harder.

On Friday February 24, my sister — who had been Mandy’s primary caretaker for almost five years at that point — FaceTimed me to tell me it was time to say goodbye. I happened to be out of town with my partner but we made sure to be fully available when we got the news. I could see through the phone: Mandy was ready to go.

A couple hours later, we were able to witness the entire process at the vet’s office. My sister cried, of course, but the doctor cried, too. It felt validating. Dr. Katie, as we called her, offered Mandy a piece of chocolate before they were going to put the medication in. Mandy didn’t touch it. I want to say it was because she was so good that she refused a forbidden treat, but in reality it was because she’d completely lost her desire for food. My sister hugged and pet Mandy when she was sedated, and then we saw our beloved dog pass on.

For the first time in my life, I saw a spirit leave a body. It was pretty astounding. Bodies really are just vessels. The spirit inside is what matters.

That’s why I cry when Shadow comes back. Because I can see that spirit that was in every one of my dogs. That spirit of love, joy, endless energy for connection.

To love is to know loss.

We love our dogs and outlive them. But our dogs out-love us.

Dogs are good like that.