Caitlyn King

My dog Carl died in his sleep of old age 2 weeks ago. He was named after the Carl children’s books; they are my favorite books. Carl gave me a kiss on the face my first day home from the hos­pi­tal. As I grew, I learned to avoid those kisses. Although every once in a while he got a slob­bery one through, and I would just laugh.

Carl taught me many things. He taught me to respect dogs. I know how to pet a dog gen­tly and to leave them alone when they are eating.

It was nice hav­ing a dog around, he always ate the food I spilled onto the floor. He loved lay­ing on my blan­kets. When I was a baby, my mom would lay out a blan­ket on the floor for me to play on, but Carl often sprawled out on it first.

Uncle Jonny gave me a stuffed-animal Carl dog for my first Christ­mas, he sleeps with me every night.

Here is a let­ter that my Uncle David wrote about our dog, I hope you enjoy it.

It is amaz­ing how ani­mals become part of the fam­ily. We bring them into our lives, (some­times by acci­dent, at times against the will of oth­ers) and they just nes­tle their way in. Soon they are a part of every mem­ory, they are seen in every fam­ily photo, and they are asked about or called upon as soon as we arrive home.

I have a lot of mem­o­ries of Carl. After all he was in our lives for last twelve years. He was with us as our fam­ily changed, grew, and shrunk. Carl was around for six grad­u­a­tions, two wed­dings, three new chil­dren and he was always there to put his head in our laps dur­ing loss or grief. His pres­ence was con­stant. If we were all together, chances are he was there too. Jess and I used him as an excuse to small talk and to meet again before we really knew each other. As he grew, our rela­tion­ship did too. He was a con­stant reminder of love in so many ways. I remem­ber him run­ning around the pool table, even if he wasn’t being chased. I remem­ber how excited he used to get when Katie came home on breaks from school. The old towel out on the tile, ready to clean up the uncon­trol­lable pee that would tell you, he was happy to see you home. Carl even got me out of a speed­ing ticket once. He loved the babies, and took care of his fam­ily. Stand­ing guard and always pro­tect­ing. He was loyal and obe­di­ent, (although he never missed an oppor­tu­nity to grab some unwatched food at a party or get together).

His pass­ing was very unex­pected. But I will say, I’d rather see him go this way, then suf­fer­ing through var­i­ous trips to the vet and sick­ness, only to have to come down to a finan­cial vs. com­fort deci­sion. Carl died peace­fully, his fur clean from his nightly bath, and with fam­ily who loved him close by. We should all be so lucky.

There is so much I could say about this dog. My dog. Our dog. He brought joy and com­fort, laugh­ter and ten­der­ness and peace of mind when he was close. He was a very lov­ing dog and he showed us all that he loved being with us. Every one of us has had his head in our lap; a toy dropped in front of us, or has been woken up to him jump­ing in our bed. We’ve all heard the reas­sur­ing sound of his tags jin­gling as entered the room. But as I think of Carl, one phrase enters the mind over and over again. And so, to sum up his life in just a few words, I’ll bor­row from the esteemed author Alexan­dra Day. “Good dog, Carl.”