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Susan Young is the Bangor Daily News opinion editor.
“Dogs should live as long as their masters,” artist and long-time Bangor Daily News columnist Tom Hennessy wrote many years ago on the back of a drawing he did of one of my dogs.
I agree with his sentiment, but have a different take. Yes, it is sad that dogs don’t live longer. But because their lives are relatively short, if we’re lucky, we get to have a lot of different dogs — with their different personalities and quirks — in our lives. That is a huge blessing.
Although all the dogs I’ve had have been some version of a female black lab, each put her own pawprint on my life and my heart.
In December 1975, a young black dog appeared at our house in Denver. My heart sank every time my father called a local shelter or responded to an ad in the local paper about a lost dog. But this dog didn’t match the description of local lost dogs and remained unclaimed. As an 8-year-old only child, I was thrilled to have a new best friend.
Days later, we set out for our semi-annual trip to my grandmother’s farm in Missouri. The dog, then called Licorice, was loaded into the car with our suitcases and boxes of presents. She didn’t make a peep for the whole drive.
As our family prepared a huge Christmas dinner, the dog quietly followed my grandmother onto a screened-in porch where she put a pot of giblets to cool before making gravy. When she returned to get the cooled giblets, the empty pot was on the floor and the dog was licking her lips.
She was thus dubbed Giblet. I long resented the fact that another family member’s dog who later ate a pie was not renamed Pie.
Giblet was always ready for an adventure, which often involved hiking and camping in Colorado’s backcountry. She climbed Colorado’s tallest mountain, Mount Elbert, with my father and I. It was the only time she was too tired to eat.
She accompanied me and my parents on the long drive to Maine to drop me off at college. She made the return trip at graduation.
When I was in graduate school in Missouri, I decided I wanted a dog — an irrational decision in hindsight. I found an ad in the Kansas City Star for a labrador retriever. A couple had bought her at a pet store because she was cute. She quickly grew too big for their liking.
I ate ramen noodles and frozen dinners so I’d have enough money for dog food and vet bills. Niki, the dog immortalized in the Hennessy drawing, saw me through numerous life transitions. She filled the backseat on the long drive to Maine 30 years ago when I accepted a job with the Bangor Daily News. Soon after, she welcomed my husband to our fold and later guarded and loved our baby daughter, especially when Elizabeth was old enough to sit in a high chair and drop food for her.
She died much too young from a mystery illness after an epic road trip to Colorado and back to see my parents.
We soon found Maddy through an ad in the BDN (see how vital newspapers can be to your life). She was a sweet, but aloof, dog and, although she was a lab, she hated swimming. She was the calm we needed as we added another baby girl to our family, bought a house and then another, and as we said goodbye to two of our parents.
Maddy also began a tradition of walking our children to school in Orono. Unless it was pouring rain or too frigid, the girls and I and a black lab walked to school. For 16 years, until the pandemic cut Emma’s senior year of high school short.
Soon after Maddy died, at home in her sleep, we found out that a relative of hers just had a litter of puppies. Nori (officially Storm’s Nor’easter) soon joined our family. She walked to school, saw both girls off to college and eagerly welcomed them home for breaks.
She was my office companion when COVID launched an era of working at home. Because she was very cuddly and expressive, she was the first dog to get away with sleeping on the bed and couches.
Nori made friends everywhere she went. She was especially fond of people who gave her treats on her daily walks on the beach.
Nori died unexpectedly earlier this month. Our house is too quiet and I miss her begging for lettuce (yes, really) and watching me from her perch on the couch. She, like each previous dog, leaves a huge hole in our hearts.
There are many lessons we should learn from our dogs: Be loving no matter what. Set aside judgment. Always be ready for an adventure. Be kind — you never know what you’ll get in return.
For those reasons (and many more), I’m ready to open my heart to another best friend, even though she won’t be in my life long enough.
