To All the Dogs I've Loved Before

Modern Miscellanea 002: A Memorial of the Dogs Who Have Left Us, Whether We Knew Them or Not.

This City’s Gone to the Dogs

In an already tense election cycle, a beacon of hope reared its small, tufted head—soon there would be an election all New Yorkers could get behind, deciding who would be New York’s second-ever dog mayor of NYC. But, as with all elections, the reprieve from election hell was mired in its own controversies and not without its detractors.

The aim had been simple enough, choose a dog to become the “Dog Mayor” of NYC in a bracket-style contest held on social media, spotlighting some well-known and new-to-internet fame dogs throughout the borough, many of which are rescues.

Bertram the Pomeranian (aka Bert and/or Bertie), owned by Kathy Grayson, owner and proprietor of The Hole art gallery in LES, though running a fairly quiet campaign compared to his other four-legged competitors, had a strong showing when his time came for voting. I wasn’t completely surprised by his fanbase coming out in full force—I have been following the oversized chocolate pommie for the better half of the decade. But this wasn’t a galvanized effort from a passionate fanbase—instead, a group of crypto-enthusiasts who, in search of a replacement for Doge coin, created BERT coin and was spamming the metaphorical ballot boxes to get Bertie to rise to the top (and increase the value of the crypto-coin in the process).

Here's where things are going to get a little bit personal for me, I was truly conflicted when the bracket came down to Bertram vs. Ziggy. Ziggy, a newer pup on the social media scene, had a story as heartwarming as you could imagine. At 10 years old, though looking like a puppy, he found a new home and gained a new “leash” on life. Ziggy’s owner put in the work hitting the campaign dog trail, attending events, and connecting with other candidates and constituents, all while being exhaustingly cute. He deserved his shot as well as any other pup, but the rise of crypto-spammers made it an uneven race.

This was what I originally planned on writing about—the adorable Dog Mayor election that became embroiled in controversy thanks to an intrusion of crypto bros. I was rabidly following it, both as a fan and then just out of sheer fascination. After months of struggling to find something—anything—relevant to pitch for an online publication, this seemed to be the one. I could speak to it not only from journalistic purview but as a follower myself. But, as I often suffer, the words could not come to me quickly enough, and before I knew it, it had been covered in the New York Times. Ah well, perhaps the journalistic effort can be put to the side, and I can discuss it here on Substack with my flourish. I added it to my “to-write” list in hopes that it wouldn’t be too far gone a memory by the time I hit publish.

Then everything changed.

It was sometime early in the week before Thanksgiving. I was scrolling social media when I saw Bertie’s smiling face staring at me, the picture used in the NYT article, alongside his puppy photo. Bert’s posts always interrupted my day in the best possible way, and I was thankful for the reprieve once more. Until I noticed something strange, Kathy, his owner, had a very distinct style and voice, what became “Bert’s voice,” that she used in her posts. This was not that. This was long, and detailed, and different.

Bertie had passed unexpectedly in his sleep, at 11 years young.

When I say I felt like I had been punched in the gut, I mean it. It’s weird to tell people that you’re sad because your favorite internet dog passed, it feels more minor than when your favorite celebrity dies, but there’s a void that’s left behind that can’t be quantified. Because Bertie was more than just an internet celeb. He was more than a social media icon. And he definitely was more than a crypto mascot. He was my dog. Of course, he wasn’t actually my dog, but there’s a weird way all internet dogs become our own. We look to them as a source of comfort the way one would a real dog.

Believe it or not, I was petrified of dogs growing up. I always lived in small apartments, so I never grew up around dogs, and the few family members who had them all had massive rottweilers and lab/bully mixes that I kept a great distance from. Even a bark from the tiniest long-haired chihuahua could have me shaking in my boots or—as actually once happened—send me flying out of my flip-flops. It wasn’t until social media that I really started to love dogs. Boo, another famous internet Pomeranian, was the first to get me hooked on following animals on social media. When both he and his Pommy brother passed nearly ten years ago now, it was sad, but his fans had seen his deterioration over time. We knew he wasn’t in the best of health, and we had time to brace for the inevitable. There was peace in the knowledge that he was no longer suffering, and I could always return to my stuffed animal imitations of him to get comfort in his absence.

Being lower-middle class my whole life, along with a horrifying fear of getting in trouble, I’ve never lived in apartments that were pet-friendly and have never tried to shirk the rules by sneaking in one. So, all I have are the dogs and cats I see online. They’re as close as I get to experiencing the joy of having a pet of my very own. Then, on New Year’s Eve in 2015, my uncle and aunt adopted Buddy, a nearly-one-year-old Yorkshire Terrier. He brought untold happiness into our lives. A few months later in the awful blur that was 2016, we lost my grandmother, followed a few months later by her younger sister, and Buddy’s presence was needed more than ever. A bright spot in an otherwise bleak year.

I truly didn’t know the love of a dog until I met Buddy.

Buddy, though living a state away and only seeing him a few times a year, felt like he truly was mine. I’d call him my “fur-cousin” (gross, I know, I’m a millennial so sue me) but, really, he was just my little Buddy. At a time when things felt like they were ending, he was new, he was precious, and he was filled with love.

Despite having limited interactions with dogs throughout our lives, my mother and I took to him immediately. For the next few summers, we’d dog-sit for weeks at a time. Even when my aunt and uncle moved to South Carolina, I saw him—including flying down there (my first-ever solo flight) and spending a whopping two weeks with him all by myself. I had never done something like that on my own, and that little scrappy Yorkie got me to. I made sure to keep a cautious eye on the now-blind terrier, following his routine of 4 PM dinner, 7 PM walk, and 8 PM bone. Two weeks to my lonesome couldn’t have driven me stir-crazy, but his presence kept me sane. I couldn’t even get mad when he wouldn’t let me nap because he wanted to play until he tired himself out enough to take a nap. Even his quirks and naughty habits were a joy.

I’ve been lucky in my life to know true, unconditional love from my partner. But the love from a dog is different. The little ways he let each individual know he loved them—for my mom, sitting by her on the couch, one paw in her hand, for my husband, sneaking up behind him and licking his sideburns, for me, stomping on my face and biting my nose (he played a little rougher with me, I guess he knew I could take it), and the myriad ways he showed my aunt and uncle love. But every time he’d signify that he knew who each one of us was with his unique little tells, it felt like we had been chosen.

Buddy, two days later after Bert’s untimely passing, followed him across the Rainbow Bridge.

For the past two years, though Buddy wasn’t an old dog, he experienced several dramatic health scares. The week before Thanksgiving was another, and this time there was nothing that could be done. At just eight years old, Buddy—our little Buddy—was gone.

I’m ashamed to admit I spent more time crying over Bert than Buddy. It’s not because I loved one more than the other—how could I? I think the wind had just been knocked out my sails from the unexpectedness of Bert’s passing, so soon after controversy struck when I was just trying to enjoy him as my favorite internet dog once more. I think that, though Bert wasn’t mine, seeing his high-flying lifestyle on a regular basis almost made it feel like I knew him even better than the dog in my family. I think that Kathy’s “Bert voice” made its way into my lexicon so much, that he had imprinted on me more than I realize, from calling burgers “burgis” to laundry “laundis,” Kathy had, in Bert, altered even how I spoke to my husband on a regular basis. And watching Kathy grieve his massive absence on the still-functional Instagram page has made me confront this grief rather than tuck it away for a more “convenient” time.

The internet really can shape us, and when it’s in the form of animals, it’s often for the better.

I think deep down I knew Buddy didn’t have much fight left in him, so despite all my pleadings and prayers and best efforts, I had to brace myself for the inevitable. I couldn’t muster more tears than I had already wept, though I tried.

Tonight my uncle sent me the picture of the small box that now holds Buddy’s ashes, placed on a shelf right next to my grandmother’s urn. Grief is often weird and unexpected and there is never a right time to grieve, but the tears finally came. Seeing his small leash placed next to the box, a tiny memorial for a tiny dog with a big personality was enough for me to finally come to terms with his passing.

The joy of newness that was in our lives when everything seemed like it was ending was gone now too, at another time when everything feels on the brink of collapse. But yet, there is still some hope. There are always more dogs and cats to brighten our days on our screens, and while they may never replace the ones that have left us, they’re all small reminders of the tiny lights that still burn amidst the darkness. The small, pure, undefiled things that we must fight for. The ones that remind us that there are not only animals worth fighting for—but humans, too. We can’t let grief eclipse us, not when there are so many who count on us.

Months before Buddy passed, my aunt and uncle welcomed a new member into their family: Shadow, a tiny black curly ball of fluff that got to spend some time with his big brother Buddy before he passed. We’ll be meeting him this Christmas—because, as all things come to an end, there are always new beginnings just on the horizon.

Rest in Peace, Bertram “Bertie Bert.” Rest in Peace, Buddy “Boo Boo.” And Rest in Peace, GoodBoyRalphie, another Insta dog I was only just getting to know. May all your owners find their peace, too.