We said “goodbye” to Dino last week. Our sweet, handsome, noble boy was just 10 years old. A fast-moving cancer claimed him. I’ll have a Dino-sized hole in my heart for some time, but I will fill it with his memories and all the love and joy he brought to our home. 

We adopted Dino from a rescue in Winfield, Illinois, in 2015. He’d been on the run in rural Indiana when the rescue found him. A part of our family since, he endured dozens of foster dogs, the loss of one dear packmate, Daisy,  and three new packmates Lucy, Roy, and LuLu (rest in peace), with kindness and grace. Though sometimes, I swear I could hear him thinking, “Hey guys, what’s with all the dogs?”.  

He was our walking buddy. On walks around our neighborhood, Dino was always on guard. But get him into the village and Dino chilled. He loved to go to our Depot Market, kind of a combination flea and farmers market. And people at the market loved Dino. I joked with Susan that I often benefited from the “Dino Discount” at the market. People were so charmed with him that they’d almost give their goods away. 

Dino did have his triggers. Deer and squirrels, of course, But cats and workers wearing reflective yellow, orange, or green vests set him off. I always wondered what it was about reflective clothing that triggered him. Now, I’ll never know. 

This cancer seemed to us like it moved fast. But likely, it had been progressing for some time. In September, we noticed a limp and began treating him for arthritis or a leg strain. Weeks later a choking incident led to the discovery of his cancer. At the exam, the veterinarian at the animal hospital ordered X-rays to make sure he didn’t have anything lodged in his throat or stomach. The X-ray revealed that his lungs were filled with either an infection or cancer. I’ve never rooted harder for an infection. It took a few days for the test results to come in, ruling out infection, and confirming cancer. Our veterinarian said that with the state of his lungs, we likely had days or weeks with Dino. Turned out it was days.

It’s almost like once Dino knew we knew the diagnosis, he went downhill quickly. His back legs weakened. He couldn’t walk even around the block. He was restless, had trouble breathing, and seemed to be in constant discomfort and pain. We scheduled an appointment with our vet. It was time.

On his last morning with us, I took Dino out on our deck so we could enjoy the autumn air together. Every time we go on the deck, Dino wants to go into our gazebo. Usually, I’m doing something on the deck, so I’d say, “No, Dino, not today.”

On this morning, he again went toward the gazebo door and this time, we went in. I brought along Jim Harrison’s Complete Poems and thought I’d read a few to him. Harrison loved dogs and many of his poems included references to them. His poems have also brought me comfort in difficult times. 

I opened the massive volume to a random page and began to read. The verse I turned to was this stanza from “Sonoran Radio”: 

The cow dog licks her cancerous

and bloated teats.

Otherwise, she’s the happiest

dog I know, always smiling,

always trying to help out. 

I couldn’t get through the stanza without sobbing. That was Dino. Always happy. Always gentle. I read a few more poems. Did some more crying. And mostly just stayed there soaking up his presence this one last time.

Along with walks and naps, one of Dino’s favorite pastimes was standing guard at the tall windows in our kitchen, alerting us to passing deer. During his final days, he’d silently watch the deer. Too tired and in too much pain to stand or bark. That last morning, beside him in the gazebo, I wrote these lines:

Now that you’re gone

I will stand by the window

And bark at the deer

In your honor

That’s just one way I’ll remember Dino. Though I’ll miss him on my walks around the neighborhood, I’ll also keep his memory close in my heart and with every step. My life is better for knowing this sweet, gentle, noble, and handsome boy. I’ll try to continue to live up to his example.

More Dino Stories:

• Happy Adoption Day, Dino

• Remembering Dino, Our Runaround Dog