On July 1, 1998, two little dogs were born at the San Francisco SPCA. They came to live with us. We lost our beautiful boy Top Top, two years ago today. His chubby hind end still wiggles in my mind. His brother, Pickles, sits beside me.

He can no longer go up the stairs without assistance. He struggles when he walks. We are doing everything we can to make him comfortable. In fact, Pickles is now on weekly injections, pain medication, anti-inflammatory drugs, and supplements. Because of that, I am not sure who hurts more: me or him. After Topham died, I still found myself looking for him, sometimes calling him from the dark when I woke up, quiet and careful not to wake my wife. “Come on Boys,” I’d call softly, but only Pickles would be there to heed the call. Soon, not even he will answer.

Here’s my essay, For the Love of Dog.

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