Stuff My Dog Taught Me About Dealing With People 

My dearest and truest friend died this week after a horrible injury.  His name was Gus, and I don’t know when he was born, but I remember the first day we met.  It was in January of 2002.  He was living in a lab rescue in Tampa with 5 other dogs who were looking for adoption.

Gus was the smallest of the adult males, and he was being treated for heartworm.  He had been hit by a car, beaten, and abandoned on the streets.  He was a trainwreck, but he was a handsome boy.  Kari and I fell in love with him right away, and we adopted him on the spot.

I went to pick him up a few weeks later when he had finished his heartworm treatment, and was released to us to come home.  I had a harness for him to be seatbelted in the back seat, and he sat there for about 2 minutes.  By the time I hit the highway, he was in my lap with his head on my shoulder.  All 70 lbs of him.  All love, all the time.

That never stopped.  Gus died last night with his head on my shoulder, loving me every minute I knew him.  It has been a very rough day, and I miss him very much.

I thought I would honor him by sharing some of the things he taught me, and I hope that he might share with you.  Sometimes I look at all the training I have had, and paid dearly for, and could have done just as well to look at his example for the same lessons.

WWGD:  What Would Gus Do

Gus liked to greet people.  Gus smiled a lot, not with a big cheesy grin, but with his bright golden eyes, and his infectious tail wagging.  He said hello, he made friends, then he kept to himself.  He was a gracious host.  He was friendly.

Gus was loyal.  Gus would get depressed when I put on my uniform to go to work.  He used to lay by the front door waiting for me.  Even in his old age he would come out and greet me when I got home from work in the night.  I could hear his tail hitting the floor when I would come in.

Gus was quick to forgive.  I stepped on Gus one time in the night, and I know it really hurt.  He snipped at me and within a second he forgave me and we were back at the task of being best buds.  I wish I could do that.

Gus was gentle with my kids.  Gus liked to be left alone.  He’d growl at the kids who’d visit and insisted on playing with his feet and tail.  He never bit, ever.  I was horrified when I saw my younger son, Jackson laying across Gus.  I was sure he’d get a real snapping.  Not even a growl.  Gus had his eyes wide open and was looking at him, but he didn’t do a thing.  He’d even grab Jack’s diaper when he’d walk by sometimes as a playful gesture.  I think he secretly wished the boys would have engaged him more.
Gus was gentle with me.  Gus loved me.  I would let him take his treats right out of my teeth, and he would gently push his nose up to my face and retrieve his rewards.  I shared a lot of food under the table with him.  I think he liked hot sauce.  It didn’t matter what I was doing, he wanted to be there.  He’d sit with me in the driveway, or on the porch, or in my office.  He was my true friend.  He had my back, always.

Gus defended me.  My brother will cringe when he reads this, but we got into a bit of a wrestling match back a ways.  Chris might have had position on me (rare, no, freaking bigfoot rare)  and Gus made his displeasure known.  Gus always winked at Uncle Chris to remind him who’s his daddy.  Enough said.

Gus hopped like a rabbit when he was excited.  I have never seen a big dog do that.  In fact, that is what he was doing when he injured himself and his hip and leg gave out.  He was always up for the next experience.  He was enthusiastic even when the end came.  He always faced things with that puppy attitude.

Sometimes Gus would just lose it and do this inverted wiggle on the carpet.  He’d look at you upside down with his goofy lips and floppy ears all over the place and you could see his smile.  He knew how to enjoy his life.  He truly did.

What A Man I Would Be

What a man I would be if I were more like Gus.  What a friend I would be.  A husband, a father.  What a pleasant individual I would be to be around.  The service I could provide without concern for myself, the shoulder I could lend to my friends, my clients.

How quickly I could make peace with those I’d normally hold grudges with, the peaceful feeling I would have in my head when I hit the pillow at night.  The relationship that would blossom with my family.  The lessons my boys would grow up with.

All in a simple phrase.  What would Gus do?  I will always cherish his memory, his lessons, his love.  In that, I move forward to serve knowing my dog is with his maker, wagging his tail with no pain, waiting for me to come home from this trip I’m on.

Thanks for humoring me.  I’ve learned a great deal about friendship in these past few days.  I offer it to you as freely as he did.  That’s what Gus did best.