My Little Dog, Honey Part 2: The Eternal Puppy

It is with a heavy heart that I have written this.  Doggy heaven took my sweet puppy on April 18 at around 2am.  My world has been rocked.  There’s a hole in my soul and I’m more alone now than I thought I was for the last eleven and a half years when Honey was with me.  I know she had a good life with me, but I always wanted more and the best for her because she was, and it became one of her nicknames, Da Best.  I like to believe I tried for her, and I know she’d choose to be with me if there was a choice.  

The following are memories of Honey, reflections on her, and on our relationship.  This isn’t a story like the first tale of My Little Dog Honey, but things I remember in no particular order, and some sad wandering dribble.  The prose following talks to Honey, about her, to the universe, and back to me.  

She was the toughest, most stubborn, sweetest girl to ever live.  She kept me above water when I could have easily gone under.  I had to be home to take care of her.  As much as I complained about our routine, without it I fear my trajectory may have been bad.

I thought about naming her after any number of rock and roll songs: Ophelia, Althea, Stella.  But she was Honey.  Hundog.  Hundo.  My Humboldt Hundo.  She was Dummy.  Turd, for sure.  Stinky.  But also, My Love.  My Girl.  MySweet Girl. Baby girl.  My Love.  Grandpuppy to my mom.  A lifelong capital P, Puppy until the last few months.  

Aside from fur color changes this dog didn’t seem to age.  Her diet and routine consistent to a fault.  Let the dog live a little, dude.  

Honey knew Neo.  He was my buddy’s dog from high school, the only animal that was really a part of my life before Honey.  He was real old, but they shared a bed once.  I have pictures.  Their meeting was epic to me.  My precious, priceless Girl, and Neo forever!

Honey is from Modesto, CA.  The four months before I adopted her is the only part of her life I don’t know.  The runt of the litter.  A little scrapper trying to get food until she wouldn’t eat the Slim Jim I offered her right at the end.  She knew, I’m out this B and I don’t need food where I’m going.  What’s it like, Honey?  Exciting?  Peaceful?  Can you talk now?

From Modesto to Humboldt, CA.  She was happy in training.  That’s where all the compliments we received over the years started.  Train your dogs early and often.  They love it.  Dogs are not people so don’t treat them like people.  They love to learn where their place is.   

Her name is in so many songs.  I will never not think of her. 

The last was the easiest and most difficult vet visit of her life.  She didn’t fuss.  I carried her in from the car because she wasn’t walking and she didn’t flail like a fish out of water in my arms like normal.  She was hurting.  They shaved her arm and put an IV in.  2 vet techs and me “holding” her but she didn’t fuss or fight.  These were new people.  She wasn’t worried.  

In Humboldt the beach or the woods was an everyday occurrence.  What a lucky girl!  Frolicking the dunes.  Learning not to drink sea water.  I saw a pure stream of sea water arch out of her butt once.  Chasing those damn birds for hundreds of yards.  Get ‘em!  Practicing recall with high value treats.  I had a pickup truck then.  After the beach, dirty dogs go in the bed.  Load up!

What phrase do you think you say to your pet most often?  I’m pretty sure our’s is “I love you so much.”

She never knew me as a cigarette smoker and I’m proud of that.  She was my reward for quitting cigarettes, a challenge to myself to grow up and get grounded.  To take care of something.  Now my ground is gone.  What I’m standing on now is different.   

She was a pain to sleep with because she always laid perpendicular to me and took up so much of the bed.  I’d eventually say “go to your bed, Puppy” and she’d hop down.

If I pulled out one of my mom’s quilts to cozy up with on the couch, Honey was right there and wanted on the quilt.  

If I was sick or crying she was there to stick her love in my face.  Her eyes said “What is this you're doing?  I only know love.”  Her eyes still said that at the end.  We were together and that is what she wanted. 

Honey’s puppy energy helped heal the loss of mom’s dog, Phoebe.  No time to be down because puppy love is here and it’s real.  

She chewed one piece of furniture, and pooped on one carpet in her first year.  Also in her first year she peed on my blanket while I was taking a nap after work.  I neglected to let her out and that’s what happened.  But that was it.  Dog training is changing human behavior and preempting dog actions.  She’d sometimes be home alone for 14 hours while I worked.  No mess.  Just stoked to see me when I returned.  

I always said when I am most tired is when Honey needs me the most.  I had been on the grind and my poor Girl needed more.  I can’t believe I won’t see her again.  

She’d stay in her little soft travel crate in trim rooms, and in the car when I managed Santa.  We’d train every two hours.  

We got stuck in the snow on the hill for a week.  Sheesh.  Glad I had enough kibble for the week.  Me and my new puppy trapped with people I didn’t want to be with and I actually never went back after we were rescued.  

She played with Foxy who was probably the best alpha dog I’ve ever seen.  She taught Honey where the line is and showed her loyalty to her human.  Thanks, Fox and Bob.  

She fell in a bog of sticky, stinky goo playing frisbee golf.

She hated having her nails trimmed.  I did cut too deep the very first time so there you go.  My fault. 

The vet had treats and that’s all Honey wanted there.  

She lived with my mom while I worked and travelled for almost 2 years altogether.  Mom helped a lot and Honey loved my mom.  Thanks, Mom, Roger, and Barbara. 

She met Nana and Grandad.  I’d like to think Grandad is taking Honey walks now.  They’d be a hell of a cute pair.  

I left her with a few dog sitters who reported what a good dog she was.  She played, wrestled, ran, and chased.  She didn’t show me this side of her too much.  With me around her self-appointed job was to stay close.

She was a great trail dog.  She was on the lookout leading the way but at my side with a recall in a moment.  She loved to be called back.  “Honey, here!”

If I jumped in a stream or river she was right behind me.  That’s how I found out she could swim.  She just followed me in.  People would say “she’s epic, amazing!” and admire her athleticism and her connection to me.  She was my dog and she was amazing.  

She never complained about the heat and we lived in some pretty hot places.  She never complained about the rain.  I think she liked walking in the rain.  That made one of us.  Honey in the snow was glorious!  And she saw it almost every place we lived.  

One time a car flipped over right in front of us. 

Honey visited wineries because that’s what I did.  Not a calm dog, really, and this was not her favorite.  Being forced to sit on a leash while there’s stuff to smell other than what was in my glass, was not her jam.  She would love to sniff around for every crumb in the world.  In the last year or so of her life she would make the choice to lay down while I read, wrote, or whatever at a coffee shop or brewery.  This was a welcome change.  My girl matured.  She would stare people down and get lovin.  Good girl. 

This she did countless times.  At the park, she’d walk right up to a group of people with her big eyes, curious, entrancing.  The people would say hi and try to pet her.  When they’d move to pet her she’d move just out of reach, turn, and stare at me however far away I was.  The people were always crushed.  Like, what the hell dog!?  I’m not good enough for you?  You came over to me!  People say dogs take on the characteristics of their owners.  I didn’t see it until this behavior became regular.  That’s me too.  I’m sort of at an arm’s length from people and I assume they think, WTF guy, you think you’re better than me.  

She had the shape of a heart on her back.  

I once improvised a song so perfect about her, to her, that it could never be replicated.  I can’t recall that song but, nothing I’ve ever said or sang to her since came close.  I’d still sing to her all the time.

Born on Jerry Garcia’s birthday.  She was an inspirational force that only few knew.

I promised her a stepmom after the relationship I was in at the time of her adoption ended.  Our little family broke up.  Sorry I wasn’t able to deliver on that promise.  I wanted someone to add to our lives so badly.  She deserved more people in her life.  I know she was happy with me but I wanted so much for her.  

She could do great wheelie’s like a good little motorcycle.  That was one of Neo’s tricks too.  Honey also had: sit, down, rollover, spin, come, here, touch, weave, jump.  Boy, could she jump.  At a good clip she could clear a picnic table.  

She had phases of fetch.  Frisbee phase.  Stick phase.  Ball phase.  I remember the first time she was in love with a the stick we were playing with at a creek and she chose to carry it for the rest of our walk.  That was a dog high on life!

One time a random frisbee hit her right in the eye.  She yelped once and moved on.

I took her to snake training when we moved to Texas.  Not sure it helped.  Not sure I’d do that again.  Not sure I’ll ever have a dog again.  

She was my purpose, my family, my partner.  She sat shotgun in some cars and in the back in others.  When we drove from OR to TX there was only enough free space in the car for one Honey and nothing extra.  

We delivered papers all over southern Humboldt County.  The North Coast Journal guy and the cute dog.  As long as she was with me she didn’t care what we did.

We did nothing a lot.  I was depressed, tired, rudderless at times.  Sorry, sweet girl.  It wasn’t you.

I thought of rehoming her once so we could potentially both lead fuller lives.  Holy fuck, no way I could have gone through with that.

I always had an irrational fear that something bad would happen to her.  I hope I didn’t shelter her, us, from living.

A mushroom journey recently taught me how to cry for her and that she was going to leave me at some point and it was out of my hands.  I wail her name, in her name “HONEY!”

I’m so grateful for the places she could be herself: Humboldt beaches, the redwoods, the big dog park in Fresno, Minto Brown in Salem, Zilker Park, Turkey Creek Trail, Commons Ford, Radio Coffee.  These places were refuges for us.  We could be man and special dog.  Her special nature could shine.  I loved watching her in her element.  There’s something so rewarding when at the park she’d be following her nose, getting her fix of whatever she was on the trail of, then it would dawn on her, where’s my human?  She’d dart around looking, eventually spot me and make a dash to my side.  This was an exhilarating and irreplaceable joy.  She had me and I had her.  My Girl.  

When I started doing yoga she would sometimes get in the way in the cutest way possible.  She’d show me, look, dad, I can do yoga too.  So sweet, so distracting, so wholesome, teaching me to keep it light or she would silly it up.  

When I started doing Ketamine sessions at home she was at times my ground as it got deep; my protector as I was in a helpless state temporarily, and once again my light and my companion as I learned to engage and integrate with the world in a new light.  

I stared at her for inspiration.  Better than gazing at nothing or into eternity, I got to look into the eyes of unquestionable love.  Love exists.  She showed it to me.  I can only hope I was a mirror of the same enduring, unwavering flame of the recognition of a true soul companion in another.  

Everyday is a winding rod was our theme song during puppy training.  This was all new for both of us.  Now everyday is a winding road that I have to navigate without my Sweet Girl, my Honey.  

When I was 30 I couldn't imagine being 40 and that honey would be there or 40 at all.

Before honey I couldn't imagine what having a dog would be like let alone the love I was shown.

Now that she's gone I don't have to imagine life without her, I just have to live. I'm lucky to have had her in my life, as my life.