She was our first dog as a family, and we only had her a couple of weeks. We cleaned up the mudroom every morning after a night of her being sick. I was 12 years old and wish I had known something about dogs. But I don’t think I could’ve saved her. No one could.

He was young and restless but he, too, died soon after we got him. No one remembers our time with him except his death. He was hit by a car crossing the street to follow my brother on his paper route. That I still remember.

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She was a loyal, steadfast, somewhat stoic Golden Retriever mix that suffered our too long embraces and our fights to have her sleep in our beds. Too many kids and not enough hiding places. Her solace was a jaunt down to the town bakery to beg for muffins. She lived long.

Demian was my best friend during my twenties. She hated river rafting and riding in the back of my bike trailer. She taught me how to be a better dog Mom. The name “Demian” referred to Herman Hesse’s novel about discovering our true self, not the horror move, The Omen. Demian was my first beloved.

I needed her like I needed a good friend who pretended I was perfect. We ran long loping miles in forests and country roads in Dover, MA and eventually the trails in Fort Collins, CO. She was gracious and patient as more dogs were added to the mix though she was wary of Jake as we all were.

Jesse was the nicest dog we had. No apparent neuroses or predilections unless you include food. She wasn’t true to her lab lineage but that may be because of an abnormality in her front right leg. She hated running, never fetched, but served as an incredible pillow for a weary kid.

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Sadie was from Pet City, a pet store. I apologize. She inspired me to fight against puppy mills. I called her Queen. All other dogs and humans bowed to her. She climbed trees, killed snakes, and reluctantly came when called. Her joy was to run the ponds and sleep with her best buds Zach and Sunny. I loved her immensely.

Jake was the runt of a litter. He ate rat poison, but we cured him with green juice. Jake was nuts. We tried training but it wasn't enough. He ate the inside of the leather couch and once dragged a Thanksgiving turkey out the doggie door. He was a wild soul who ate his last rock at three years old. I loved him inexplicably. 

He was the best dog my daughter could’ve picked even though timing was a little off. Who gets a dog as a freshman in college? (Hey! I was a sophomore!) Startlingly handsome, Toby knew he was there to protect. People always stared at him when we paraded ourselves down the Poudre Trail. A noble and beloved soul.

If Dylan had opposable thumbs, he would’ve made us dinner. Smart, gentle, athletic, responsive, kind—he was the guy all women wanted. He was supposed to be the dog for Dan after the Jake fiasco, but he left us after just two years. I asked him to come back to me if there is such as a thing as canine reincarnation.

Zach bit a few folks but it was never his fault. Bad people! A scaredy-cat rat terrier, I held him like the baby he was. He worshipped Sadie and I may have ruined their love affair when I brought Sunny into the mix. I still ask his forgiveness for not recognizing the early signs of degenerative disc disease.

I was possessed by an alien. It led me to Sunny who had been abandoned by his owner in Malibu and bussed to cold, wintry Colorado. He also adored Sadie. Sunny had more surgeries than all my dogs combined—until Frida, of course. He taught me about pet insurance.

Mazzy was Sarah and Cody’s dog, but she stayed with me a lot. Toby was her true beloved. When he died, her heart was broken forever. Her anxiety as a young dog destroyed a glass table and a wire cage but she got better and became the best sitter ever for the grandkids. She knew no matter what they did to her as toddlers, it was perfect.

Frida was a pregnant stray from Texas. She’s a barker but only when people or a gust of wind invade her territory. She can shrug off her harness and run away with ease. She looks like Queen Cleopatra in her dog jogger. Frida will break my heart beyond measure when she leaves me