Friday morning
I left the house early, but not as early as I’d hoped. I gave Tim, Lando, and Obi each a quick kiss and entered Saskia’s address into my phone. Google told me what I already knew and I waited to text her my ETA until a more reasonable hour of the morning. I’ve been taking more solo trips and feel confident making my way. Friday drive. Saturday Pittsburgh. Sunday triathlon. I’m excited and I’m happy.
November 15, 2016
We’d bandied about the idea of a second dog for a while, someone to absorb some of Obi’s boundless energy and give us each a dog to hold on walks. Plus, all my friends have two dogs. It just felt right.
I wanted a shelter dog, something with some herding breed in him, just like Obi. I found a shaggy yellow dog online and we went to meet him. The shaggy yellow dog was so traumatized from its recent rescue from a hoarder he wouldn’t leave the kennel. A little embarrassed, the staff asked if we’d be interested in another dog from that group. Lando picked us out that day, not the dog we expected, but undoubtedly the dog we needed. Though less skittish than the shaggy yellow dog, Lando’s fear of the world paralyzed him and I carried him to my car and then into the house.
In times of Lando worry, he always let me carry him.
Friday afternoon
I’m driving to Pittsburgh, alternating between horror movie synopsis podcasts and Taylor Swift. I call Tim for company on the drive and he mentions that Lando’s tumor has hardened, but not grown, and the oncologist isn’t concerned. I sigh and chew my lip. I’ve trained so hard for this triathlon and can’t wait to spend the weekend with Sas. I’m going to have a great time and if the vet isn’t worried, I’m not worried.
November 2016
“Lando ran off” aren’t the words you want to hear 24 hours into bringing your new dog home. He slipped out of his harness and bolted into the suburban wilderness, leading us on an overnight goose chase that twisted Tim’s ankle, exhausted us both, and had me wondering what we’d gotten into. When he was finally captured and brought home the next morning, he smelled like he’d slept in a dead Tauntaun. It was his first bath and not his last escape. Oh, collie.
Friday evening
Tim and Lando are at the vet now. The tumor is bigger, but he seems mostly normal otherwise. The oncologist can’t be reached but the on-call emergency vet confirms Lando’s vitals to be good. I swallow my anxiety and reassure Tim that I’ll be home in a few days and we can figure everything out then. Tim is worried and I’m having a harder time believing I’m about to have a fun weekend with friends. Saskia takes me out for ice cream and I promise to call Tim before bed.
October 2017
Lando’s first big camping tip. We meet Andi and Pepper in North Carolina and spend the weekend hiking, exploring, and eating cheese. I can’t believe how brave Lando is around Pepper and Andi, demonstrating once again how far patience, the woods, and cheese can take you in friendship.
Friday night
Tim is worried. He’s alone and facing more questions than answers and it hurts me to be away. I’m angry at both the timing and the oncologist who won’t answer his phone. I promise Tim I’ll leave Pittsburgh in the morning if Lando isn’t better. I love him and I’m sorry. The words are for everyone.
September 2018
It’s cold to be camping in the Badlands, but not so bad with all of us in the tent together. Four warm bodies cuddled under blankets are enough against the cold night air. Faintly, we hear coyotes in the distance. Both dogs react simultaneously and in opposite--Obi returns their howls with his own corgi yodels while Lando dives further under the blanket. I laugh at Tim desperately trying to convince Obi not to join the call of the wild while I comfort my 50 lb chicken. Eventually the coyotes leave and we sleep together in a pile, happy and safe.
Saturday morning
Back to the vet. Lando isn’t keeping down what little he’s eaten and I calmly get in my car to drive home. I make it about an hour into the 500 mile trip before the choking sobs come. I call Aubrey and beg her to tell me funny stories until the tears stop. She does and they do.
May 2019
I’ve taken up running again and after Obi protested one too many times, Lando was promoted to my official running buddy. Together we circled our neighborhood, city parks, and eventually nearby trails. He never had the same enthusiasm for running some dogs have, but then, I never did either. We ran for fun and to have some alone time and that was more than enough for us.
Saturday afternoon
I stop at a Burger King in West Virginia and when I return with my chicken fries, a butterfly follows me into the car. I roll down all the windows and eat my chicken.
The butterfly is still there by the time I’m done and no amount of shooing seems to make it want to leave. Its right wing is a little broken, reminding me of Lando’s lost right leg. I stop shooing and keep the windows down with the music up, back on the road with my hitchhiker.
I finally call my mom, knowing that delivering this news will bring more tears. She says all the right things and tells me that I taught Lando what love was, the most beautiful gift anyone could give. Tears stream down my face and the butterfly sits on my leg while I drive. I don’t know how the wind hasn’t carried it away yet but I’m grateful for the company.
I hang up the phone and sing along to some country music while the butterfly sits on my lap. Lando is with me. I carry the butterfly to a bush at my next stop. Goodbye, friend.
January 2020
Obi has hurt his leg and we aren’t doing as many family walks. Lando and I spend more time adventuring on our own, him preferring the back of my car to the shotgun seat, but I’m not too offended. I keep my head on a swivel when we’re alone in the woods, but I know Lando is big and loud enough to give others pause. The fact that he’d sooner climb a tree than fight anything is my secret.
We are anxious together, and doing our best. Sometimes fear sits like a bear on my chest and makes it hard to make my usual jokes. In those moments I lay under a weighted blanket but never alone. Lando likes it under there too.
Saturday night
Eleven hours later I’m home and finally holding my dog. He didn’t get up to greet me at the door and he didn't look at me when I called his name. I tell Tim we’ll wait out the night and take him to the vet in the morning. We put on our pajamas and carry Lando into our bed.
But Lando can’t get comfortable. In less than 24 hours the tumor has grown from a fig to a softball and it won’t let him lay his head down to rest. He’s quietly brave and doing his best.
I swallow the lump in my own throat and tell Tim to call the vet.
Carefully, I carry Lando to the car and hold him on my lap in the back of the car. Obi takes my usual seat up front. I carry Lando into the vet, I carry him into the room. I carry him.
August 2021
We all love our new home in Tennessee. No more do we need to drive great distances to visit the mountains. I can see them out my window and Lando is delighted to visit them every day.
We’ve moved to a vacation spot and our days are designed for fun. He sniffs every rock and chases me down every hill. It is truly a wonderful time to be a dog. The hard work of giving him this life paid off. We are beautiful.
August 27, 2022
Obi sits loyally with us on the floor, not putting on his usual corgi show for the vet and the tech. He knows.
I tell the vet of Lando’s bravery, not just tonight, but every day since I carried him from the shelter and into my car. She cries with us as we hold Lando’s head. My happy dog sighs as he’s finally able to lay his head and sleep.
It’s then that everything hurts. I’ve taken on Lando’s pain.
Grief is the price we pay for love and it's time to pay for my most loyal friend. I hurt and I don’t speak.
We drive home, a family of three. I’m sick in the bathroom and take 2 Dramamine to put me to sleep. I’m dreading the morning when I’ll wake up and remember. Go to sleep, I think to myself, you’ll feel worse in the morning.
But it turns out the remembering wasn’t the worst part. The remembering is where I’ve chosen to linger, savoring memories of a very good boy, a very brave boy who tried his best and did a good job. The remembering is what tells me how it felt to be unconditionally loved and exactly what it felt like when he put his paws on my chest. The remembering is how I can share these stories and a hundred others with you, we find common ground in loving tragically mortal dogs.
I found peace in thinking about his love, which I felt every day we spent together. I carry it with me. A good boy.
