I was never a dog guy. I like my things. I like cleanliness and order. I like peace and quiet. And to be honest, I was kind of selfish. I didn’t want to care for a living animal. So when my roommate came home with a big, slobbery dog brimming with frenetic energy, my immediate reaction was to find a new home for him.
It was Valentine’s Day, 2014. I was getting ready for bed and heard a commotion coming up the stairs. Through the front door barrels this gigantic head attached to an emaciated body. Matt is yelling over the mayhem. “I’m sorry! It’s freezing outside, and I found him chained up to a dumpster. He would have died out there!”
I was livid. I just bought a brand new sectional and rug for our living room. This dog immediately lunges on the couch, rubbing his smelly head in every nook and cranny. I’m yelling at him to get down. As he hops off the couch, diarrhea sprays all over the rug. “GET THIS DOG OUT OF HERE!” Matt worked as a veterinary technician and had a soft spot for animals I couldn’t relate to. This dog wasn’t my problem, and he was ruining my things.
Matt and I came to an agreement. We’d keep this dog until we could find him a new home. And if we couldn’t find a home within a week, he was going to the pound. We calmed him down enough to snap one picture that crazy evening.
I posted it to Facebook the following day with this caption: “If anyone is looking for a dog, my roommate and I are fostering this little guy until we can find a good home. He's about a year old, well-mannered, house broken, and trained. Feel free to share this post to spread the word!”
Sure, I twisted the truth a bit. But whatever I could do to get this dog out of my home as quickly as possible.
You probably know how the story goes from here. Cute dog. Single guy. We became buddies and grew a strong bond. Within two weeks, I brought him to my parent’s house and introduced him to the family as my dog, Oskar.
Before Oskar, most of my life existed within a one-block radius. My apartment, job, dry cleaner, gym, and bar were all on different corners of Fullerton and Southport. I’d wake up, pick up my clothes from the dry cleaner, work out, put in a day’s work, and then drink until I’d stumble home, pass out, and do it all over again.
Oskar changed that. I couldn’t be gone from morning until the wee hours of the night. Even though I was in my early 20s, heavy drinking had turned me into an emotionally-vacant agoraphobe. I dealt with immense anxiety whenever I had to switch up my daily routine. This dog deserved better than that. He was overflowing with energy that needed to be exercised.
Walks around the block turned to walks to the neighborhood park. Walking eventually turned to jogging. Instead of the park, we’d extend our trips to the lakefront. I became a regular at the local dog park, watching Oskar expend his energy for hours daily. Watching this dog run with seemingly endless energy brought me a calm I had never experienced. He’d run himself ragged every day, but I was getting exercise and sunlight with him. I aimed to improve his life, and he started to inadvertently improve mine.
I suddenly felt a sense of purpose and a responsibility to give this dog the best life imaginable. Rather than hitting the bar after work, I’d hustle home to take Oskar for an evening run. I’d wake up early to let him play at the dog park before my shifts. My drinking slowed down, and my anxiety started to dissipate.
One morning, I matched with a beautiful woman on Tinder, Emily. We instantly hit it off and spent all morning messaging back and forth. I got out of work early that day and, like every other day, planned to take Oskar to the dog park. As fate would have it, Emily worked right down the street from Wiggly Field and was cut early from her shift.
Emily met me at the dog park that afternoon, and the connection was immediately like nothing I had ever felt. We spent a few hours at the dog park. After that, we walked to a dog-friendly watering hole around the corner, where Oskar stole the love of every patron. Emily, Oskar, and I spent all day with each other, and nothing else in the world mattered.
Within days, I threw a crazy proposition at Emily. “Want to move in together?” We had hardly known each other for a week, but there was something there that we both wanted to nurture. My lease was coming to an end soon, as was hers. And we did it. We met on May 22nd, and by June 5th, we were living together.
I loved Oskar, but he was a dog. I didn’t let him on the couch. I had him firmly trained with one-word commands. The thought of letting him lick my face or get in my bed disgusted me. Emily was kind of weird, to be honest. She would roll around on the ground with Oskar. She called him odd nicknames. Rather than barking a command, she’d drop to a knee, look him in the eye, and try to reason with him. Oh, and the face-licking? Yeah…
Emily showed him a different type of love. She showed me that this was more than just a dog. He was family. Suddenly, Emily, Oskar, and I had this cosmic connection. As I sit here trying to write about it, I can’t even put it into words. Oskar became a part of us, a part of our relationship, and a part of our heart.
There was nothing that Oskar wasn’t a part of. Family vacations, holidays, road trips, you name it; Oskar was there.
Our friends and family all fell in love. Oskar, this big, dopey, smelly dog, left an impression on everyone he met. And everyone noticed the same thing: his eyes. He had these expressive eyes like no dog I had ever seen. Strangers in Chicago would stop me on the street to take note of his human-like eyes. You could feel unrequited love pouring out of Oskar’s soul through these gentle eyes. As crazy as I thought Emily was for talking to Oskar, I swear he was communicating back at times through that gaze.
Fast forward eight more years. Over that time, Oskar lived a hell of a life. He celebrated a Cubs World Series in Wrigleyville. He partied with us on boats. He came to concerts. He went apple picking in Door County. He hung out at beach volleyball tournaments. He climbed mountains. He saw the Grand Canyon. He camped in the desert. He swam in alpine lakes.
Oskar lived a life that most humans would be jealous of.
But, like all dogs, his time came to an end. Oskar’s end was unexpected and abrupt. Less than a week before his final breath, we spent a weekend with my brothers. It was apparent that he wasn’t himself, but he came along for the trip. He wagged his tail and made his rounds a bit slower than usual. My brothers knew he wasn’t well.
Over the next few days, he stopped eating and lost the ability to walk. I showered him with all the love and affection I could muster, knowing that a difficult decision was ahead of us.
Emily was traveling that week, and I kept telling Oskar, “You’ve got to wait for your mom, buddy.” Every time I’d say it, those expressive eyes would turn to the front door. I knew Oskar was in pain, but he refused to show it. He was as stoic as could be. Emily knew he wasn’t doing well, but I didn’t want to burden her with the harsh details of his decline. On her own accord, she scheduled an early flight home. Somehow, Oskar sent her a message and told her he needed her there.
Emily got home on Sunday evening. Almost immediately, Oskar took another turn for the worse. His breathing slowed, and his eyes told us for the first time that he was in pain. We spent a few hours loving on him before taking him to the vet. Not once did Oskar show that he wasn’t ready to go. He looked to us for comfort, and we looked to him for strength. It’s never easy to lose a dog. But I will find solace knowing that his life ended with us showing him the same love he always gave us.
There’s never a good time to lose a dog. Oskar was just a shade over ten years old. I always foolishly thought that he’d make it well beyond that. But he knew it was time.
Emily and I just signed on a new house two days before his passing. I got a raise earlier in the week. We are trying for our first baby. Oskar brought us together as crazy young adults nine years ago, and he lived to see us make it as an established married couple ready to start a family.
As I said earlier, Emily would talk to Oskar. Over the years, it was almost as if he’d started understanding what we’d say to him. I stopped with the one-word commands I taught him as a pup. In the same way Emily would drop to a knee and reason with him, so would I. As I spent time earlier that week on calls about my job, the new house, and the upcoming baby, you can’t convince me that Oskar didn’t understand my words. It was a wildly eventful week full of great news. Oskar lived to see it and then let himself go. It was almost as if he told us, “My job here is done.”
Oskar, Emily, and I were a crew. Before this morning, we’d never known a day apart. Even though he’s not here, I still see him around the house. On our way back from a morning coffee run, my heart sank when I didn’t see his face waiting for me in the window.
But it was Oskar’s time. He knew it. Emily taught me how to love Oskar differently. Oskar taught me. Emily taught Oskar. Oskar taught Emily. We lived through pivotal years together as a unit, and Oskar helped us become the people we are today.
And now, while a part of that is gone, Emily and I feel closer than ever - addition by subtraction. We will never forget what we learned from Oskar; how to love with everything we can give.
