I picked up Berkely’s ashes on Tuesday.
He came back in a beautifully decorated rosewood box with his name spelled correctly on a gold-painted plaque. It was heavier than I expected, but golden retrievers are big dogs, I guess. They also gave me a framed clay impression of his paw.
Sitting in the car outside of the vet’s office, I got teary eyed and started talking to him. It felt like he was in the car with me again, or at least I wanted it to feel like he was. I started laughing after a few minutes because I thought How silly and weird it is to sit alone in my car and talk to a box of ashes.
I kept talking though, because it helps.
It’s been two weeks without my buddy dog. Each day feels a little better as I start adjusting to a new routine without him. I still get sad at moments, but when I look at Berkely and his paw print my mind goes back to the memories that made me smile more than the sadness in his absence.
I’ve changed a lot in the last 15 years (thank God). Some of that change I owe to Berkely, because having a dog for nearly half your life will teach you a thing or two about all of life.
So here are 5 things Berkely taught me about life.
Be present
This is a very cliche lesson from dogs and babies, but I found it especially true during his last week.
Berks wasn’t acting particularly sad or sick, but knowing that our days together were literally numbered got me reflecting a lot on what being present actually looks like. I sat with him as he sunbathed in the yard. I chatted longer with neighbors who greeted him. I paused movies to play with him and his favorite blanket. I took my time making his bed and tucking him in at exactly 9pm each night, just the way he wanted. He had my full attention, and I didn’t consider any of it wasted time.
What I learned that week was the less I tried to rush through things, the longer and more full of life and joy that week felt. Maybe I didn’t “get much done”, but I did feel that same feeling of accomplishment knowing we spent the fullest amount of time together.
Messes can be cleaned
People always commented on how beautiful, clean and soft Berkely was; but he never fooled me. That dog loved to be filthy and never regretted a romp in the mud.
When he was a puppy, I walked outside to find him face deep in a small puddle of mud he dug up in the backyard after a storm. When I called, “Berkely!” his fluffy head popped up and I saw a chocolate lab wannabe instead of a golden retriever. He didn’t bother waiting for my next command before diving back into the mud.
He did this again when he was about 4 years old and we lived in Orlando. I brought him to the dog park after another storm (I really should have used better judgement), and he darted for the biggest puddle of mud he saw. When I shouted my disapproval, he ran toward me and gave a shake before running back to the puddle. As if to say, “Come on, mom, it’s fun!”
Even on his last day, we took him to the park after it had been sprinkling all morning and he happened to “lose his balance” into a muddy ditch. He did have trouble with his balance in his last couple months, but I have no doubt this dog wanted one more go before he left this world.
As annoyed as I was about cleaning up a dirty pup, I look back and remember that messes can be cleaned. It’s his goofy smiles and silly moments that stay with me now.
Life’s too short for kibble
Berkely always made it known that he did not like kibble. None of it. We tried a variety of high quality brands that he eventually begrudgingly ate, but not before he put on his cutest face to convince grandma and mom to sneak him the good stuff.
He did this thing where – when denied food from the table – he would stare into his bowl, give it a whine, push the kibble around and out of the bowl, and then look at me. It was almost like he made it look like he had eaten some of it and was ready for the reward of whatever I had on my plate. It was the worst when I had to put him on a kidney-friendly diet, because he would sometimes refuse to eat, and I think that also contributed to his rapid weight loss.
Of course, we encouraged the begging – it was hard to say no to his excellent negotiation face. But in all of our battles over food, he taught me to not waste my time with things that don’t contribute to my joy.
I don’t have to feel obliged to do something because it’s what everyone else is doing, or I think it will make others happy or proud of me, or simply because I don’t want to. These last few months, I’ve seen that life is short, enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Enjoy it with some moderation. Berkely loved people food, but his digestive system and bathroom habits post-people food were not enjoyable for either of us.
Always be down for an adventure
Berkely lived in 5 states and moved across the country 4 times. He lived by the ocean, in the desert, and in two major mountain ranges. He lived a life of adventure.
His favorite places were anywhere he could get into a river. When we lived in Ouray, Colorado, I’d walk him across the street to the Uncompahgre River. I’d throw him sticks and he’d swim after them. I’d toss a rock into the shallow end and he would fish it out. He could spend all day in the river.
We did a lot of hiking too. He’d be so excited to explore new trails that he’d dart ahead of me; but he would come back often to make sure I was still following. When we moved to North Carolina, he was having trouble getting up steps and steep inclines, but that didn’t keep him from moseying up our favorite backyard mountain trail to sniff around in the woods. He didn’t like long car rides, but I think he knew that more often than not we’d end up somewhere exciting for him to explore.
There were a few times last year where I felt bad because I forgot his endurance wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d get exhausted in the middle of an adventure that we had to cut short. But no matter how old he felt, he was eager to give it a go for as long as he could and wanted to.
Must love people
I’m still so amazed by how loved Berkely was and still is. So many friends and family have been reading my posts about him, even people I don’t know well or never met reached out to share stories about losing their dogs and thanking me for sharing about Berkely. I love these responses because I love hearing people’s stories, and I learned to love others well from Berkely.
Berkely taught me to love. Like, sure, I knew I loved my family and friends; but with a dog, I learned how to love. On good days and bad days, I learned what love ought to look like. And it was the same because he showed me just as much love back (maybe even more).
He wasn’t an obviously affectionate dog. His patience for cuddles was limited (I get it). But his love was shown more in loyalty and how happy he was whenever I came back; whether it was a couple hours or a couple years.
He also taught me to love myself. In times when I felt lonely or unloved, he’d come up to me, breathe his rank breath in my face, and just sit with me. No words necessary. His presence was a reminder that even if nobody in the world loved me, he loved me, and that could be enough.
Berkely’s memorial sits on my desk. Even though he’s not here anymore, it still feels like it did when he would lay at my feet as I worked. I’ll look over every now and then and smile at his paw print and remember a funny Berkely moment.
I’m forever grateful that you were my buddy dog, Berkely. You taught me a lot. I hope I can channel that same goofy, adventurous energy each day to make at least one other person smile and feel loved.
Sheridan Block 
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