National Dog Day: Remembering Megan

My grandson and his dogs a few years ago.

I’m a few days late for National Dog Day, but really, isn’t every day a good time to celebrate our love for dogs? We should extend it to National Dog Week because people love their dogs! I no longer have a dog, but I do have three grand dogs. I also have memories of a very special dog whom I loved dearly. In honor of National Dog Day, I will share my story of our family’s beloved dog, Megan.

Megan’s Adoption

Megan became my parents’ dog in a roundabout way. My daughter loved dogs, and her father, my ex-husband, agreed to adopt the yellow lab-chow mix from the shelter. The plan was for Megan to stay at his house, and my daughters would see her on Wednesdays and every other weekend when they stayed at their dad’s house. My ex-husband’s visitation schedule worked fine for the kids, but dogs need more than part-time attention. After six months, it was apparent this plan wasn’t working.

Megan and My Parents

My parents came to the rescue with a solution. They lived on several fenced-in acres and agreed that Megan could live with them, but they were firm about her being an outdoor-only dog. They assured my daughter her dog would have a warm doghouse to sleep in at night. We visited my parents four to five times a week, so this seemed like the best solution for all of us since we had a house full of cats. Megan left without glancing back and, happily, became my parents’ dog.

We visited almost every day and loved seeing Megan happy. She worked in the garden with my dad, loyally following him as he did his outdoor chores. As summer turned to fall, we noticed Megan seemed to be indoors more often. When we visited for dinner, Megan would play with my daughters, but she was seated at my dad’s feet when it came to mealtime. Much to my mother’s dismay, my dad would sneak a few bites to Megan here and there. Megan had wormed her way into my dad’s heart.

When winter brought cold nights, the doghouse was abandoned, never to be mentioned again. Megan had found herself a warm bed right next to the fireplace hearth. Any pretense of Megan being an outdoor dog had been blown away along with the first fall leaf. Dogs are pack animals, and Megan had found her pack, my parents. She still loved my daughters, but her loyalty was to the alpha dog, my elderly but active dad.

The intense loyalty she showed to my parents was sometimes a problem. Megan had waited a long time to find her perfect home, and she would not risk anyone taking away her forever family. Any visitors to my parents’ house faced the dog’s intense scrutiny, and Megan found almost every visitor unworthy. She would bark fiercely, sometimes even baring her teeth. Not acceptable behavior, but despite my parents’ efforts to train her, it wasn’t working. They didn’t have many visitors, so they put her in “her room” when they had guests. She had gone from being an outside dog to having a bedroom of her own!

Megan grieved when my father died. She missed the leader of her pack and their shared daily chores. My mother reluctantly accepted the role of head dog. She didn’t spoil Megan like my father did, but they grew closer after my dad died. My mom was lonely with her husband of 59 years gone, and Megan provided constant companionship. Her intense protective behavior became a comfort as the neighborhood around my parents’ acreage became one of the city’s highest crime areas. I felt much better leaving my mom alone at night, knowing Megan would fight to the death for her owner.

Megan Moves In

Sadly, my mom died within a year of my dad’s death, leaving Megan to face an uncertain future. My daughters, who had adored Megan, were now away at college, leaving me with an empty nest. I could take Megan except for one serious concern—actually, two concerns, in the form of cats. I had two senior cats who had never lived with a dog. They were indoor-only cats, and I wasn’t sure if they had ever seen a dog. How was this going to work? Knowing I owed Megan my loyalty, I was determined to find a way. Megan was old and becoming frail. She deserved to live the rest of her life in comfort and love.

When she moved into my home, I tried to separate the dog and cats, but it quickly became apparent that wasn’t practical. After a few hisses from the cats to establish dominance over their territory, they all learned to get along. I won’t exaggerate and say they were best friends, but peace was attained, which was better than I expected.

Megan and I had known each other for most of her life, but I had always been a background person, a secondary figure. We liked each other, but we weren’t tightly bonded. I brought Megan to my house because it was the right thing to do. I thought I was doing her a favor. With my kids at college, my house was quiet, and I was lonely. I grieved for the loss of both my parents in such a short time and missed them more than I had dreamed I would. Having Megan to care for turned out to be a comfort to me.

Megan was a link to my children and my parents. She was a common denominator, the dog we all loved. Taking care of her became my therapy and a source of comfort in my time of grieving. We became co-dependent as she followed me around the house, and I chatted with her. That grumpy old rescue yellow lab quickly became my favorite companion.

Grieving Megan

Megan was old when she came to live with me. Intellectually, I knew I wouldn’t have her long, but that didn’t stop my heart from breaking the morning I woke up to see her lying motionless on the living room floor. She was alive, but barely. My husband lifted her into our car, and we drove to the veterinarian’s office as quickly as possible. She was scarcely hanging on when we got there, and we all agreed the most humane thing would be to accelerate her death with medications. I held her gently and told her she was loved and had done her job on earth. She died peacefully, but I cried buckets of tears for weeks. My grief for Megan was complicated, tied up in mourning for my parents also.

Megan was the dog my parents left behind, and I became the human Megan left behind. Her life here wasn’t always as smooth and easy as it should have been, but I’m sure she’s getting her just rewards now. I believe all dogs go to Heaven, and as much as I love and miss Megan, I find it comforting to picture her with my dad as they do their chores in Heaven. She was left behind too many times on earth, but never again in Heaven.

I’ve often wondered why our grieving is so intense when our pets die. I’ve felt guilty because my grief for my animals has sometimes seemed stronger than that for humans. My daughter, who is a veterinarian, explained it to me. Our love for our pets is pure. We don’t have mixed emotions or unresolved conflicts with them. Our pets never criticize or nag us. They don’t tell us we have bad breath or could stand to lose a few pounds. They love us unconditionally, flaws and all. They depend on us, but we also rely on them more than we realize. When we lose our pets to death, it is unmitigated sorrow. But while they’re here, let’s revel in the furry happiness they bring!

My daughter and her beloved dog, Megan.