This never gets easier – and is made worse by having lost Hannah less than a year ago.

We said goodbye to Oliver yesterday.

He had been in declining health for some time, and even more so over the last month.

He was increasingly fragile and with his difficulty standing on his own we couldn’t really leave him alone. If he slipped on the tile floor he couldn’t get up and the look of confusion and fright in his eyes was difficult to see.

While he was sometimes present with us and the other dogs, he often seemed lost in his own confusion. Last weekend he lost interest in eating – even his favorite treats – and his consumption of water decreased.

He deserved a good life, something that was no longer possible, and we wanted to give him the dignity he deserved and not suffer.

So, earlier this week, we made the decision that it was time. I’ve made tough decisions over my life – this was among the most difficult, but it was final gift I could give him – to not hold on for me.

A caring vet, Doctor Marc, came to our home and made his passing easy and painless; it was the most peaceful passing of any of our dogs.

We gave Henry and Gracie a moment with him after his passing to ensure they would understand what had happened to him; Hannah had left us at the pet hospital, and they were in distress for days not understanding why she was no longer present.

I never had pets growing up (except briefly for a turtle and a hamster we kids shared) – my mother didn’t want to have a dog in the house, and my father acceded to her wishes; though he grew up with dogs and would have been delighted.

Every pet since has been someone else’s – though I loved every one of them; grieved their losses; and miss them still.

Frosty was David’s dog. Our cats, Sunny and Sebastian belonged to Katherine.  And Teddy, Rainier, and Hannah were Terri’s, serving as therapy dogs at her clinic.

Oliver was my dog – serving only to be a pet and companion. He was my buddy.

And he outlived them all.

I had named him Oliver, after the title character of the novel, Oliver Wiswell, by Kenneth Roberts. The book is about an American who stayed loyal to the king during the American Revolution. For me, the book is a reminder there are different perspectives and views that often challenge our expectations.

That was certainly Oliver.

I confess before we got him, I had wanted a Labrador Retriever, but Terri wisely put a deposit down on him when she first saw him as she knew he’d be claimed by someone else – even before I had seen him.

He was this little ball of fur with a too-big muzzle that he had to grow into. That he had different perspectives came early when seeing him in the litter.

While the other puppies would compete for the same nipples of their mother at feeding time, Oliver always went to a rear one by himself.

That early lack of competition for dominance carried with him through his life. On the other hand, maybe it made him gentle. He’d bark at other dogs and vehicles, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

He and Teddy were about the same size – for a week or two – when we brought him home.

But Teddy as the alpha (even being the sole dog) was little interested in a puppy. Oliver was also the last dog to know our cats, Sunny and Sebastian, before we gave them to a shelter for adoption (both in one adoption – and they had a new home within a week).

Oliver seemed fine with that – not interacting with cousin Annabelle, and later not playing with Hannah or Rainier (though he and Rainier had some dominance conflicts that probably surprised Oliver: they were a bit frightening to hear and see – fortunately, with no wounds). He seemed happy on his own, but was always glad to lay next to them.

We went through a period of getting him to walk on the leash in our Kent neighborhood – he’d pull and tug. But over time, he settled down.

There were few Aussies around town back then and people would ask what he was and comment on how handsome he was. We even had a few vehicles slam to a stop, with the drivers asking about him – in both Kent and Gig Harbor.

We did discover two things about Oliver.

The first was that while he wasn’t interested in other dogs, he loved chasing frisbees. He was always so happy chasing them, particularly when he left his feet and looked like he was flying to grab at the frisbees.

He would continue to bring frisbees back for more throws until, in a contest between throwing arm and his endurance – his endurance typically was the winner.

The other thing he liked was jumping into a person’s lap. He’d come up to someone, size up the situation, and leap gracefully into a lap and settle in.  I was always ready for him to do that, and it was a treat every time he did.

I watched him do that to my father-in-law who was both surprised and happy.

Oliver had been a little-maintenance dog his whole life. He did have a few cuts when younger -likely from thorns in bushes, but no illnesses except for a few incidents of pancreatitis, and once consuming rabbit poo. People who saw him including the vet techs who saw him at the clinic, even in the last few years, would remark he still looked like a young dog.

When he was a very young dog, I recall the look of fright in his eyes as the vet tech led him away when he was to be neutered. I felt so bad then (and it’s still a painful memory) – even though I knew he’d be home that evening.

The last year or two saw his decline begin.

Where in earlier years, he’d run up the stairs at bedtime, he started going up slowly and favoring one of his rear legs – the vet had confirmed he had issues with his lumbar spine and hips.

We started lifting him onto the bed with a sheepskin strap that he seemed pleased to have used on him.

Then late last year, he stopped going upstairs and would refuse even when assisted.

That was when I knew we had passed a major milestone in his life.

I started staying in the recliner on the first floor with him as he wandered for a bit before settling down for the night – at which point, I’d go upstairs to bed.

I don’t know if it was important to him for me to be there, but it was important for me. As I’d sit there, I thought of all the things that have happened to me in the years I shared with him – some good, some bad.  Through it all, he was always there for me.

Through this time, he was still up for walks in the neighborhood – starting slowly as we left the driveway, he’d pick up speed as we walked; and he was particularly quick on the downhills – there were times I had to trot to keep up.

Then about four weeks ago, he wouldn’t descend the porch to begin his walk. Since then, he would pull away when the leash was brought out.

While I knew last November he had probably seen his last birthday, the lack of interest in his walks meant he was coming to the end.

Looking at him these last few weeks has brought on a flood of memories.

One of my favorites from his first year was something that only he and I shared.

He slept in a cage next to my side of the bed. And I took him out in the early morning hours for a potty break. That year (2010) had a cold, rainy late winter/early spring, and standing out while he did his business wasn’t pleasant.

But rather than going back to bed and disturbing Terri, I sat in a recliner in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, with him in my lap.

We’d spend the rest of the night there – with the house quiet, and me just thinking about all the adventures he’d have that I’d share with him.

Dogs, and other animals as well, in addition to giving us unconditional love – they have no agendas or hidden motivations – are part of our lives to teach us wisdom.

While we humans are mostly distracted by memories and regrets of the past and fears and hopes about the future, a dog lives only in the present. They teach us the importance of living in the moment with awareness and attention.

That was Oliver.

He’s gone on ahead–to play with Frosty, Rainier, Teddy, and Hannah, and cousin Annabelle; and maybe see Sunny and Sebastian too. I know he’ll be waiting for me.

I know there will come a day when I look to the side of my desk, where he used to lay waiting for me, and I’ll smile at his memory and his spirit.  And I will live in the moment with awareness and attention – as I learned from him.

Oliver – November 9th, 2009 – February 5th, 2026