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I’ve been a little light on posting this summer, and it’s not because I haven’t had anything to write about. On the contrary, I’ve had so many things to write about, some life-changing, that overwhelm has been a near-constant companion since May.

In the past three months, CU Boulder hired me as a full-time teaching faculty member in the psychology and neuroscience department (I start August 19), I said goodbye to our life as housesitters, Heath and I moved into a single-family home in Lafayette, CO, we finalized our move from Norfolk (ie., last week we packed up in a U-haul our remaining stuff stored in our friends’ basement and then drove from Norfolk to Lafayette by way of Harrisburg, PA, and Murfreesboro, TN, and my beloved buddy, Dodger, died in my arms.

I’ll write about all these events soon, but today I honor Dodger, a dog unlike any other with his sassy attitude, envelope ears, and butterscotch heart.

Dodger and his mama Cecily were a huge part of my life in Norfolk. I wrote about them on this blog multiple times (see here, here and here for examples). The world lost Cecily in June 2022, and a little over two years later, Dodger joined her. Dodger’s adoptive parents knew his end was coming. Throughout the spring, they had kept me updated on his declining health. I asked them to tell Dodger he didn’t have to wait for me to come back to Norfolk this summer and that if he needed to go, he should go. We knew we loved each other.

He held on. My flight to Norfolk landed at Bradley-International Airport on Thursday, July 11^th. After a good friend picked me up and dropped me off at Annie and her human’s house, and a quick hello and hugs to them, I headed over to see Dodger.

Although it was heartbreaking to see such a commanding and agile dog as Dodger hobbling around, his face retained every inch of his Dodgerness. I understood exactly what his adoptive parents meant by his “mixed signals” when having to make the hardest decision in Dodger’s life.

I spent that night with him and then went over again to spend hours with him on Friday night. I was told the plan had been set. A vet would come to the house on Monday.

But Dodger never did anything according to what we planned, and Friday night, he took a turn for the worse. The vet was able to fit him in on Saturday, and his adoptive parents generously and graciously offered me to go with them.

The moment I walked in and saw him on Saturday afternoon, I knew they were making the right decision. It was time. Well, it was time for Dodger. There would never be enough time for me to get in all the walks, belly rubs, and reminisces of our time together.

We spent our final hours together, and then suddenly, we were in the car going to the vet. Along the way, Dodger became a little agitated. The idea occurred to me that I had many videos of Cecily in my cloud storage, so I quickly found one of the longer videos (I knew where to look) and played the video on a loop. Dodger immediately settled down at the sound of Cecily’s voice.

Cecily’s name became a refrain we all echoed at some point during Dodger’s final hour – just a little bit longer, and you’ll be with Cecily again.  

Dodger’s death hits particularly hard because I truly feel it’s the end of an era. I met Cecily and Dodger early during our time in Norfolk and I spent countless hours over there every week. For over two years, Heath worked as one of Cecily’s caregivers. So many times, I tagged along on their outings. We always had such a splendid time.

There were so many small, joyful moments with Cecily and Dodger – dinners, birthdays, Super Bowl parties, Christmases, and the most spectacular sunsets viewed off of Cecily’s side porch. She had, arguably, the best sunset view in Norfolk.

Cecily’s family sold her house last year so I’ll never again be able to watch one of those porch sunsets. When I drove by her house the day after Dodger died, I felt empty with loss. I no longer have any direct connection to Cecily, just my memories. Some I’ll never forget, like how I was driving Dodger home from the vet in Cecily’s car when I finally saw my first black bear in Norfolk after three years, and some are gone forever, thanks to my journal being stolen last year.

Thankfully, I am good friends with Dodger’s adoptive parents so that connection remains alive and well. We marveled over the idea that when we met eight years ago, we never could have guessed that someday we’d be sharing profound grief together over someone else’s dog in a veterinary exam room. We all had Dodger in our arms for those last few minutes.

Goodbye, my sweet and sassy Dodge Podge. It was a great honor to know and love you.