Good Dog, Levi. Good Dog

I noticed the tale had stopped wagging on Friday. Levi’s “glad to see you” wag was the usual side to side, but if it had been awhile since he had seen and been with you—an hour or two—you’d get the circle wag. Now it almost never moved.

We said goodbye to Levi today. To keep him here any longer would have been selfish of us and meant misery for him. At his annual vet visit earlier this year, the doctor warned us that there were two things that would probably progress to a point where we “would have a decision to make.” The day has come. And we are sad. But we are glad, because Levi was a good dog.

Levi came to live with us more than thirteen years ago. His mother, who lived next door, was a licentious woman. an escape artist, and the friendliest boxer I have ever seen. We never met Levi’s dad, but he must have been a Shepherd or a Lab because Levi could shed an amazing amount of hair. Levi was a good dog.




Levi lived first in our kitchen. He had a rough start, but some medicine turned him around quickly. When we had to leave the house, we would leave him in the kitchen with baby gates at each door, but he would scale those with ease (like his momma) and find his way to the living room sofa. Okay, sometimes he wasn’t, but mostly, Levi was a good dog.






Levi grew and the backyard became his domain. He got lots of exercise chasing squirrels - don’t know if he every really caught one. If another, slower animal wandered into our back yard, woe would befall them in Levi. Poor possums. He really just wanted to play with them, but they didn’t know how. He figured his job was to protect his domain from all intruders. He did once overstep his bounds and latched on to the hand of a visitor. As soon as he did, it was like (probably due to my tone of voice) he knew he’d had a momentary lapse of good sense, he released the hand and headed to his hiding place under the shop. Other than that, Levi was a good dog.

Levi did not like to eat alone (unless there was steak or other human food in the bowl—a rarity). All of us, as well as those who would feed him when we were away, knew that. I read a lot of the Augusta Chronicle standing in the backyard while Levi finished his breakfast. He made sure I was up-to-date on current events. Levi was a good dog.

When April and I were at Emory for months in 2010 for my cancer treatment and stem cell transplant, Levi was here, keeping Philip company, and listening to whatever Philip had to say. Levi was a good dog.

When he was younger, he loved to run, play fetch, wrestle, and just do the dog things that make us love them. As he got older, he would act like he wanted to play fetch—looking longingly at a ball—and when I would throw it I would get that, “Gee dad, you really threw that a long way.” And he wouldn’t budge. His hearing began to fail. Lots of things pointed to the fact that we were nearing the end. As his physical condition changed, he was helping us get ready for that last day. Levi was a good dog.

We don’t usually think about it, but when you bring a pet into your life, you know, deep down, that they will not outlive you. That is just the way it is. But you cannot really be prepared, totally, for the good-bye day, no matter how it comes about. There will be many times, I am sure, that I will be in the backyard and expect to see him. I’ll find a toy, a ball, a hole, or some other thing that will remind me of Levi. But that is okay. I will love having the memories. My whole family will, because, even though we are sad today, we remember, Levi was a good dog.