I met my best friend in August 2008. His name was Gilbert, a yellow lab, my first guide dog and a loyal companion for twelve years. He came at just the right time to assist me in navigating college and the start of my career, and I couldn’t have asked for a more loving, loyal companion.
My parents and I made the difficult decision to put him to sleep on December 2, 2020, the day after his fourteenth birthday. This was during the worst of the pandemic, and normally, protocol at our vet required calling the vet upon arrival in the parking lot, and a tech would come to the car and take the pets in for their examinations while the owners waited in the car. It broke my heart to realize Gilbert might have to cross the rainbow bridge alone. But I was blessed that, at a time when human loved ones had to pass away in hospitals alone, the vet made an exception and allowed me to come in to sit beside my best friend in his final moments. I cried in June 2019, when I could no longer deny the reality that Gilbert was too frail for the long summer walks we used to enjoy. But by December 2, 2020, I knew it was time to let him go, and as I sat on the floor with him while the vet administered the injection, my parents, the vet and I smiled through our masks as we shared stories of our happy life together.
The final year of his life, he could barely walk and could not climb stairs. But every morning for most of his life, he would be waiting outside my bedroom door when I woke up to greet me with sincere joy as soon as that door opened. (I couldn't sleep with him because his snoring kept me awake.) He had to stop going to work with me in 2019 when he developed incontinence, but right up to the end, he came eagerly to me when it was time to leave for work each day, even as he needed a ramp to get into our car. It was rare to encounter anyone who didn't adore him. Over the years, everyone from peers to professors to coworkers told me that just seeing Gilbert, with his sweet, sunny disposition, brightened their day, and even the most no-nonsense professors couldn't help but stop and laugh when Gilbert would emit a perfectly timed snore or sigh during a boring lecture.
It breaks my heart to think about how, throughout human history, so many people have misconstrued the privileged status God gave to humans as rulers over all creation. While it is true that we are the only species with complex language (both oral and written), and the ability to reason and be held morally accountable, I believe God created animals like Gilbert not merely to serve us, but to teach us in a unique, nonjudgmental, nonpreachy way, how to be better people.
For one thing, Gilbert didn't know or care how much money I may or may not have had. In fact, he didn't even understand the concept of money. He only asked that his basic needs were met and was more interested in my love and attention than fancy dog toys. This attitude has given me a more mature perspective in my interaction with others, especially around occasions like Christmas where I also have come to realize that the joy of a new thing is fleeting, whereas love and attention given and received with family and friends offers truer, lasting joy.
On a similar note, Gilbert has also taught me to better appreciate the simple pleasures of life. It is so tempting to get consumed by self-pity, or to compare yourself to others and think “if only I had that job, or if only I had more money, life would be so much more exciting.” But when you don’t understand and thus cannot care about concepts like money and status, simple pleasures like eating, or looking out the window make every day an exciting day. While I am still a work in progress, I am trying to adopt this outlook on life, this appreciation and gratitude for the simple pleasures of life.
As with any deep friendship, we had the occasional argument.
"I know I'm on duty Mom, but I see my own kin ahead. I miss my kin as I am an only dog. Can I PLEASE PLEASE go say hi?" he would ask in dog language, panting desperately, increasing his speed dramatically, wagging his tail, and whining.
"No! I need you to guide me safely right now," I would try to answer in dog language, administering a leash correction, making him stop, sit and lay down to restore discipline, but our conflict was never fully resolved.
But when he wasn't distracted by his own kin, he was the most trustworthy and sensitive guide a blind person could want. Sensing that snow and ice made me uneasy, he walked extra slow and cautiously in the winter. He also sensed that I was prone to tripping on the smallest of cracks in sidewalks, and would stop or slow down for cracks that guide dogs normally would have dismissed as insignificant. One Tuesday morning in 2010 when Gilbert and I attended a Bible study at a local church, Gilbert did not notice a pole that separated two doors. That day, as my head hit the pole with an audible PING, I understood firsthand the expression "seeing stars," despite being totally blind, and Mom who was with me swore the building shook. I was too shocked to discipline him or point out his mistake and have a do-over as is proper guide dog handler protocol, but it turned out I didn't need to. For several weeks after, he remembered that pole and needed coaxing to walk me through that door again. If he had been injured in that incident, you could call his behavior fear or self-preservation. But since he was not injured, I firmly believe his behavior was a sign of remorse, his way of apologizing profusely that he made a mistake that injured me, and promising it would never happen again, at least not there.
He was only capable of living his life one moment at a time. I cannot tell you how much time I have wasted worrying about something that will happen at work tomorrow, or fretting about what the future holds, while Gilbert was snoring contentedly. He didn't know what the future held either, but he didn't seem to care because in that current moment, he was sleeping peacefully, and that was all that mattered.
This also meant he was incapable of holding grudges. In 2016, he accompanied me for a job interview. It was a state government job I was really excited and hopeful about, but he made me look bad, and a month later, I received the rejection letter. For a week or so after that letter, I did what I had to do to take care of him, but the thought of him almost made me cry as I wondered if he may have cost me the job. When I would call his name, I could feel frustration and resentment in my tone of voice, and after work, I would just retreat to my room and not want anything to do with him. But soon it occurred to me that while I was replaying this moment in my head over and over, he had probably long forgotten about it. And even in the midst of that moment, he was not behaving out of malice toward me. He did not understand the seriousness of a job interview. All he knew was that there was another dog in the office which was unexpected, and his doggy instincts got the better of him. When I came to these realizations, I forgave him in my heart and showed him extra love. In return, he gave no indication that he noticed my resentment of him, or if he was aware of it, he had clearly forgiven and forgotten. Since that experience, I have noticed myself doing a better job of trying to apply this attitude to my other relationships, forgiving others quicker and giving them the benefit of the doubt.
Since he couldn't speak, scientists still debate whether friends like him are really capable of showing love. But when I passed out from dehydration in 2010 and had to go to the emergency room, he did not want to leave my side when I returned home, and when I had to go to work without him because he needed surgery to remove a tumor from his mouth, Mom said he had been crying until I got in the car, at which point he rode home with his head in my lap. In his final year of life when he could no longer climb stairs, he would cry from his bed downstairs if he was left alone, but when I went downstairs and sat with him to read or watch TV, he was happy. I couldn't have found any words to make him feel better even if he could have understood them, but just my presence was all he wanted. These, and other incidents too numerous to recount speak volumes. Love is a universal language that does not require words, a truth that we should all keep in mind in our human relationships, especially with elderly relatives nearing the end of life.
Don’t worry. I am not a crazy dog lady. I have many wonderful human friends as well, and I cannot imagine life without them. I also recognize the limits of dogs. We need the lifelong relationships and meaningful conversation that only human friendships can provide. But there is something unique about the relationship between man and dog that it is no wonder dogs have been coined as “man’s best friend.” Perhaps this reputation comes from their long history as loyal helpers that worked alongside humans, protecting the homestead from wolves, hunting, or guiding sleds. But given my experience with Gilbert, and the other pet dogs I have grown up with, I also wonder if we are drawn to dogs for friendship because they embody what all humans long for but have never figured out how to fully attain. After all, if we could all live the way our dogs live–savoring life one moment at a time, appreciating the simple things and not getting caught up in worldly trappings like money and status, being there for each other in times of need even if we are at a loss for the right words to bring comfort, loving and accepting one another unconditionally, letting go of grudges and forgiving quickly–just think how much better this world could be. And for people whose only friends seem to be their dogs, I wonder if it is because they have been let down by people in their lives, and they feel their dogs are the only ones that love them unconditionally. If we know of such people in our own lives, what if, instead of looking down on them and making fun of their obsession with their dogs, we instead aspired to live more like these dogs, and strive to be that friend their owners have been seeking?
If you want a reason to smile for the day, and to see for yourself how sweet and adorable Gilbert was, here is a video Carroll University recorded on graduation day when we both received recognition. I received my diploma and he received a bone.
A Tribute to Gilbert