Goose, a dog and best friend Kris and I had for just over seven years, died in the wee hours of Dec. 8 while “It’s a Wonderful Life” blared on the TV in the emergency vet’s waiting room. I haven’t told many people or talked about it much. His passing made the Holidays decidedly dreary for us. Goose had been sick and in decline for a year but we still weren’t ready. It’s taken a month to gather my thoughts. Here they are.
Goose was not the dog I wanted but he was the dog I needed.
My previous canine sidekick, Hook, was a fearless, photogenic, superstar. Kris and I raised him from a pup. He’d chase down balls with abandon, leap off high docks or through anyone’s outstretched, encircled arms. He was confident, could wait in the car for hours while I played gigs and then come inside and charm audiences with his on-stage antics.
Goose was a different dog altogether.
He was shy and private. Adopted from the shelter, Goose had an unknown past. We didn’t know what kind of dog he was, his age, where he came from or anything about his backstory other than he was a stray picked up in California.
Goose was so withdrawn and scared when we brought him home that I didn’t know how to deal with him. He was aloof, not eager-to-please and unmotivated by food. I’d get frustrated and angry with Goose because he wouldn’t respond the way Hook had. I struggled to form a connection with him.
I even contemplated bringing him back to the shelter.
Only shame stopped me from doing that. I knew I’d never be able to admit to folks that I couldn’t make a 17-pound dog “work.”
So, with lots of help and support from Kris, I stuck with him. I’m so glad I did.

It took two full years of consistency and understanding before Goose’s real personality finally emerged. He turned out to be a remarkably sweet goofball who would toss his head like a pony and pirouette on his hind legs when he was happy.
But he also remained odd.
Goose was scared of kitchen noises such as rattling pans and snapping Tupperware lids. The sound of distant trains, even a mile off, also terrified him. Yet thundershowers and fireworks didn’t phase him at all.
His right ear was permanently cocked upward, as if he were listening for something. It’s tip bobbed to the beat of his trot.
Goose hated being left alone in a car and would, for some reason, chew on the seatbelts. However, he loved sticking his head out the car window when it was moving, even in the dead of winter.
He almost never barked, at anything. At home, he was usually upstairs, on our bed. Goose rarely came down to meet visitors at the door. He wasn’t gregarious with strangers or other dogs.
There was only one dog toy Goose ever cared about, a small stuffed fox that looked a lot like him. He never chewed it — or even squeaked the squeaker — but would play guard it with fake growls in the only game he knew how to play. He slept with it every night and it lasted the whole seven years we had him.
Goose wasn’t enthusiastic about canoeing but was cooperative with getting his life jacket on and hopping in the boat. He hated the water but would somehow manage to fall out and get soaked once or twice every summer.
From the start, until the end, Goose refused to poop in our yard — and we never could figure out why. So, for all those years, we drove him to off leash-walks around the city, and in the countryside, two or three times, every day.
It wasn’t a convenient arrangement. But it did provide Kris and I with an endless supply of quiet, contemplative, healthful walks. Goose loved peeing on trees, bushes and rocks. It was his true vocation.
He was an excellent walking companion. He needed no leash. Those strolls, hikes and woodland adventures were, without a doubt, the highlight of our relationship together. I’d do anything to have just one more.

Early on, doctors told us he had an imperfect, bad heart which would probably do him in someday. They were right, it did do him in — but it wasn’t a bad heart at all. It was a brave, loving, loyal heart. But it was just too big for his little body to contain.
I’m so lucky to have known Goose.
I never was able to teach him any flashy tricks. Instead, it was the other way around. He was my teacher and showed me everything I think I’ll ever need to know about patience, toleration and accepting other creatures for who and what they are, right now, in the present. I’m not perfect but I’m better for knowing Goose.
I miss him.
Now, I’m taking walks in the woods alone, imagining Goose is just up ahead, out of sight for a moment around the next bend, that I’ll see him again, soon.

Beautiful story Troy, and beautifully told. Goose’s story is kind of similar to my cat Hugs. Sometimes it isn’t easy following a tough act to follow. Goose was a truly beautiful dog! My wife Peg’s heart melted when I showed her the pictures. Thank you for sharing. Happy New Year.
I am so sorry for your loss, Troy. As usual, your writing painted a beautiful picture. I feel like I know Goose.
We adopted a dog that came up from Hurricane Katrina. She didn’t know how to play and was scared of things like laundry being folded, whoopie cushions, and water. We were told she belonged to an old woman, so maybe that’s why. Hahaha! She was a complete couch potato. She stole our hearts!
I recognize the pain you are writing about. You and Kris have my sincerest condolences.
Jen
Hi Troy- thanks for writing something you didn’t want to write. Very moving and so relatable. Great guts! Glad you had Goose in your life. Jessica