Good Boy

Pilot was a good boy.

I’ve never had a pet of my own. My family had a couple of dogs when I was a child: a chihuahua I barely remember and a neurotic poodle. I did receive a chick at Easter one year, but when it grew into a raging rooster that ruled our backyard a nice lady took him to her home in the country. Not to live with her there. You get the idea.

I’ve always been perfectly happy with our pet-free home. I still am. But I will miss Pilot.

Younger Son and Wife adopted him from a shelter shortly after their marriage. He was around two years old, and we believe he had been on his own all his life. I’ll never forget the first time we met. I bent down and greeted him by name, and he responded by backing away as if I were an evil spirit.

Thank goodness we eventually became friends.

Pilot appeared to be a mix of Labrador retriever (although he hated the water) and border collie (although he didn’t see the point in playing fetch). He did like hunting squirrels, barking at deer, and going for walks. When he was younger, I swear he’d jump at least three feet up in the air when his leash appeared. For a long time, we couldn’t sit down without his poking his snout in our faces, hoping we’d take him out.

Pilot was really skilled at only one thing: loving his people.

In the 12 years since his adoption, three children have arrived on the scene. He accepted the new humans without hesitation and withstood their poking and prodding without complaint. He did utter the dog version of “Really?” when the first child tried to ride him like a horse, but he never held a grudge.

Pilot lived with his pack several states away, so he always gave a low warning bark when he saw us for the first time in a while. Then he’d remember the nice man who was always so generous with head scratches and long walks and the slightly crazy lady who seemed nice enough, nevertheless.

After the initial excitement, he’d retreat to his bed in the corner, rest his head on his paws and sigh. Our daughter-in-law often compared Pilot to Eeyore, Winnie-the-Pooh's perpetually sad donkey friend known for saying, “Thanks for noticing me.”

There was a streak of melancholy in that sweet dog, born perhaps of the hard life he experienced on his own. But I believe it was the memory of that time that made him so devoted to the people who took him in.

On our last visit, I told Mr. Pettit that I didn’t think we’d see Pilot again. Each one of his 98 dog years showed every time he moved. It hurt to watch him.

And now he’s gone.

I don’t know what happens to animals when they die. That knowledge is above my pay grade. I do know this: Pilot loved his people. His people loved Pilot.

And love is never wasted.