A Eulogy for Willow

Burt Bacharach and Hal David said it best: "What the world needs now ..."

Willow, a very good dog.

It seems like in Charlotte and across the world there has been too much senseless violence. This year, we’ve buried friends, we’ve watched the school shooting epidemic in the United States continue to get worse, we’ve seen 20,000 children die in Gaza - one every hour - and we’ve borne witness to political assassinations.

In our Charlotte community, one of the scores of homicides this year has gained national attention due to its tragic and violent nature. Just yesterday, our national political tensions accelerated when Charlie Kirk was shot and killed, leading for right-wing commentators to call for even more violence.

Gabby Giffords, who survived an assassination attempt that took the lives of six others in Tuscon in 2011, joined many others in trying to turn down the temperature:

“Democratic societies will always have political disagreements," she wrote on Twitter, "but we must never allow America to become a country that confronts those disagreements with violence … The murder of Charlie Kirk breaks my heart. My deepest sympathies are with his wife, two young children, and friends. Attacks against political or ideological opponents are cowardly and un-American, and must be universally condemned."

Unfortunately we are no strangers to political violence and terror. Today is the 24th anniversary of the most devastating act of violence on American soil in most of our lifetimes. There are so many forces and moments tempting us to follow our base instincts, as opposed to working together with love to repair the world.

Amid this chaos and despair, Rebekah and I lost our beloved Rottweiler Willow this week. This loss has inspired sadness and grief, of course, but it has also helped me meditate on what is important in life, and what is most needed in this moment:

Love. My love for Willow, and her love for me, and my love together with Rebekah and others taught me more than I can put into words. I hope this love helps me turn away from rage, hate, irrational judgment, and needless conflict. I’m sharing the below in hopes it may do the same for you.

Below, I’ve shared a eulogy I wrote for Willow, and my prayer for these times we live in. It may be too saccharine and it may be too naive; but this week I am just too heartbroken to care what others think.

I hope that love will conquer hate. I am wise enough to know I may be proven wrong, but still optimistic enough to believe I could be right.

A Eulogy for Willow

A secret: I never understood dog people.

Growing up, I was slightly allergic to dogs and cats, and maybe that meant I didn’t really care for pets. I wasn’t scared of them - quite the opposite, most pets are really friendly with me - but I just didn’t understand despite my family having a dog growing up.

Maybe it was me just being a (spiritually) Gen X contrarian Millennial teenager. The U.S. pet industry just happens to do $150 billion in business every year, so something something consumerism bad?

Regardless, that entire worldview collapsed like a house of cards when Rebekah and I met Willow, our dear rescue Rottweiler who left us on Sunday.

It was not the ideal meeting. Meeting her required a two hour drive to Siler City, at a remote location that was a horse ranch and … something else. We had to take two cars because we were going in different directions - Rebekah was still living in D.C. while I was in Charlotte.

Right before we met Willow, Rebekah and I had an argument over logistics and minutiae at the Asheboro Biscuitville - the kind of stupid fight all couples have where whatever it was about is quickly lost to time. We were both still a little salty when we walked into the office at the ranch to meet Willow.

And then my heart melted.

She was 85 pounds of pure energy. She jumped on a table. She took to me instantly. From the second I met her she was the perfect dog for a 6’6”, 350 pound giant. For whatever reason, she loved me more than I could comprehend, and I loved her infinitely back.

The next week, after we decided she would be our dog, I came to pick her up. We stopped by Barbecue Center in Lexington on the way home and Willow snuck all the pork she could. Her adoption fee was only $150, but in retrospect I would have paid 100 times that. I can’t oversell it - she was the perfect dog for me.

Unfortunately, Willow wasn’t the perfect dog for everyone. She had been abused by a previous owner, and I invested a lot of time and training in helping her be better with humans. It didn’t always work, and she could be too loud and bark too much and try and nip at folks. Sometimes she succeeded, really testing our patience.

She was a master at puzzles and it is a blessing that she did not have opposable thumbs. Any unsecured food was hers. The first time I left pizza unattended on the counter was the last (at least for awhile).

With her size and her specialness, she could also be a challenge for us. The first time I picked up Rebekah from the airport with Willow, Rebekah got thrown up on. Sometimes, if we touched her in the wrong place, it would set her off and scare us. Out of an abundance of caution, we didn’t let her around kids.

Then, on my first birthday after adopting her, she pulled me into the road, jumped in front of a car, and got struck by a rear view mirror. The sound she made was possibly the worst thing I ever heard.

But in retrospect, that’s when I knew she was an irreplaceable part of my life. I was inconsolable as we got her medical attention - thankfully she was ok - but I was still a big, lumbering, crying 34-year-old giant.

During the pandemic, she was my constant companion during too many zooms and conference calls, which I would often take walking. She rarely left my side, and my walks with her were often the best part of my day. Unlike with humans, she was great with other dogs and loved dog parks.

She often wanted attention and would bump you with her snout if she wanted pets - especially in the arm that was holding a cell phone. Her smile was huge. Even when she got older, she still would break out the puppy energy if she heard her leash or a tennis ball.

When we got the news last month that she was sick, we tried to fit in as many of her favorite things as possible - pup cups, walks, car rides, adventures, samosas from Curry Gate, you name it. We did everything we could to ease her pain, make her happy, and demonstrate our love. I am thankful that I was with her until the end - she would have done the same for me if she could have.

Rebekah and I are heartbroken and we will be for a long time. I guess that’s an absurd statement to anyone who hasn’t been blessed with the perfect dog, but there it is.

So many people were a part of Willow’s life, but I am incredibly thankful for her best babysitters, Sarah and Jesse, who always showed her the utmost love and compassion.

I learned so many things from my special girl, but most of all I’ve been thinking about this as we’ve grieved and faced hard decisions over the past couple of weeks: if we could find a way to love one another as much as we love our dogs, the world would be a better place.

I love you, Willow.

A Prayer for these Times

It is easy to be mad. It is harder to be rational.
It is easy to yell. It is harder to engage in conversation.
It is easy to drum up outrage. It is harder to create lasting change.
It is easy to demonize. It is harder to lead.
It is easy to have an opinion. It is harder to learn.
It is easy to be coddled. It is harder to be challenged.
It is easy to talk. It is harder to listen.
It is easy to blame. It is harder to pursue justice.
It is easy to waste time. It is harder to spend time wisely.
It is easy to hate. It is harder to love.