My drooly love teacher

About 14 years ago, we were headed into fall, I had two young kids at home, and I decided that

a dog would be a perfect companion while Pat spent long days and weekends coaching football. It would give the kids and me a project - a reason to go for walks and care for something.

We met Jake, a lab "mix" (we don't know how many breeds he was, but we know primarily lab and hound) on a sunny fall day at a farm west of town. He was friendly, attentive and slobbery - we loved him immediately. 

Pat was skeptical. As a farm kid, he never really got close to the dogs they had - some ran away, some were hit by vehicles and some needed to go away because they chased cattle. "He'll be an outside dog," he said.

Jake was having none of being in the garage at night, so Pat relented. "Ok, but he won't be in the bedrooms."

The next night, we found Jake snuggled up next to Sean on the floor next to his bed. "Ok," Pat said - "... but he's not sleeping on any of the beds." He came home from Friday night's game to find Jake snuggled in beside me on the bed, and Pat gave up the idea of having an "outside" dog.

Jake lived with us for close to 15 years. He was the sappiest, most loyal and quite possibly the dumbest dog that ever lived. His sweetness gently hid his flaws. He drooled all over the place, gave kisses to people who didn't want them and nearly pulled our arms out of their sockets when we walked him on a leash. But when Abby, who was 3 at the time, wanted to take the leash, he immediately and instinctively stopped pulling, choosing instead to walk in step next to her. When a neighbor dog interrupted a picnic we were having and nipped at a child on our swing set, Jake came to her defense and ran the dog off - the one time I ever saw him aggressive with anyone or anything. When our windows were open an there was a child crying in the neighborhood, he would alert us and run to the window, looking at us as if to say, "Aren't you going to DO anything about this?" And I would frequently wake in the morning and find myself staring right into his friendly, hairy face, and before I would have a chance to move, he'd reward me with a full face lick in greeting.

Many of us have a pet story like that. There's so much more - the boundless enthusiasm they greet us with when we get home, not leaving our sides when we're sick, hurt or sad, and the unconditional love that only a pet can give.

And, as much as we want them to, pets don't live forever. In the past year, Jake has been showing his age and it was clear he was starting to suffer. So yesterday, as we lovingly stroked him and thanked him for being such a good dog, he went to sleep.

I remembered something lovely that author Glennon Doyle Melton shared in one of her books about talking to her children about the loss of a pet: 

"We don't love people and animals because we will have them forever; we love them because loving them changes us, makes us better, healthier, kinder, realer. Loving people and animals makes us stronger in the right ways and weaker in the right ways. Even if animals and people leave, even if they die, they leave us better. So we keep loving, even though we might lose, because loving teaches us and changes us. And that's what we're here to do. God sends us here to learn how to be better lovers, and to learn how to be loved, so we'll be prepared for heaven."

I knew I would be sad when Jake was gone, but I was unprepared for the depth of the grief I'm feeling right now. That's ok. He loved me relentlessly, so I owe him that.

I'm also grateful for the grief, because it makes me aware of my capacity for love. So many have helped me understand it, and Jake was certainly one of them.

It hurts, but that's the price we pay for loving well and being loved. Love changes us. The hurt eventually subsides and it makes us better, healthier, kinder, realer.

And that's what we're here to do.