Everyone loves gifts, right? Jonah certainly did. If it was something someone gifted to him, he seemed to know it and then treasured the item. The first incident I can think of is the stuffed frog that he carried with him everywhere. He would even take it on walks with us sometimes or we would find it on the driveway where he would have left it after sunning himself there in the afternoon. I had given him toys throughout his life but this particular toy he selected for himself one day when I’d taken him into the store with me to pick up some food. I must have had a few extra dollars that month so decided he could have a new toy or chew. I walked him down the aisle, letting him sniff everything he might want and telling him he could choose something with an encouraging note to my voice. He came to this bin of pink and green stuffed things: the pink ones were pigs and the green were frogs. Each was somewhat quilted in texture with a squeaker inside. He stopped and nosed around in it and came out with a frog. He set it on the ground and then rooted around in the bin again. I offered him a pig, which he sniffed and nosed, before returning to the frog. He pushed it a couple times, picked it up, and walked down the aisle with his tail wagging. Ok, that was the one.

I realized later, after returning home, that the first toy I’d ever given him was a small frog. I’d bought it at Target, where the toys weren’t really sized for big dogs so it was way too small for him and he’d outgrown it quickly. Was it a coincidence that he chose another frog for himself many years later? I like to think not.

Another cherished toy was the squeaky reindeer that Grandma Ann had given him the year we drove out to Alabama so he could come with us. Our granddaughter was just under four and it was the first year where she was starting to get into the holiday spirit. We were all excitedly opening gifts pulled from under the tree. I hadn’t thought about getting anything special for Jonah because he was already a dog with a box filled with toys and didn’t need any new ones. He’d never been a destroyer of things, other than cardboard or to surgically remove any hard-plastic eyes that a toy might contain leaving bits of white fluff coming from the orbitals. So he just tended to accumulate toys.

Thankfully, my mother-in-law is one of the most thoughtful people I know and had bought him a special something. She brought out a small gift bag, stuffed with some paper as one does with gift bags, and offered it to Jonah. He knew it was for him, and likely smelled the furry toy within, so he started nosing through the paper to find the toy. He happily pulled it out after a few tries and then proceeded to play with the toy for the remainder of his life. The frog and the deer were two of his favorites and he knew them by name. I would ask him, before he lost his hearing, where one or the other was and he’d look up at me, then wander off to wherever he’d last left them.

Last year at this time he was given a present by a friend. It had come completely wrapped, but he knew when the gifts were left which one was for him and he had nosed it but left the others. Come Christmas morning we were all curious what was in his box that he’d been able to detect was something particularly for him. I assumed it must have treats or some food item inside. We gave him his box and told him he could open it. Inside we found a stuffed seal (no ears) and a new water dish. No food. Huh. That was a surprise. There must be some particular scent to a stuffed animal. It was squeaker-less, but he loved it anyway and carried it with him for days.

There are other stories of special gifts given to him, like the slightly too-small bed from my Sharon and the purple dragon from our son and daughter-in-law. All of them he treasured and would use from time to time. I suppose we gave him the greatest gift this year by releasing him from this life where his body hurt and he struggled to enjoy his favorite things. He hadn’t played with his toys much for a while and he even had stopped obsessing about treats, so those were signs of what was going on for him. I had hoped to have another year with him, but life, as it often does, did not go as expected. I hope you have all your favorite toys surrounding you, Bubbaloo, and that you are chasing squirrels, birds, and deer to your heart’s content. There are days when your absence doesn’t hurt as much, and then there are gift-giving seasons when I think of your antics and I couldn’t miss you more. Merry Christmas Jonahroo. We love you.

It’s a funny thing, grief. One minute all seems even-keeled. The next, a favorite song is playing…one that begs for joyously wild dancing, which I slide into without thinking. Song ends, and I fall onto the couch in a puddle of tears with thoughts of Jonah and how we would “dance” together swirling through my head.

Jonah wasn’t really much of a dancer. But he seemed to enjoy it when I did. In his youth when I danced around the house, he’d join in by walking around and bumping into me; I’d give him the sign to spin this way or that, which he’d happily do. As he got older and arthritis made it hard for him to get up and down with ease, he’d just watch me with what looked like a grin on his face. I’m pretty sure he thought humans were odd creatures.

It’s simple things I miss most about him. Working some magic in the kitchen and I’d look out to see him in the hall, next to the closet that held his treats, looking intently at me. I always wondered what went through his head. Was he willing me to stop what I was doing to give him yet another treat? Was he looking at me because I was his person and he loved me? Dunno.

In the last few months of his life, he slept a lot. But he still would come up to one or the other of us a few times throughout each day to nudge a leg or a hand (or in Marc’s case, testicles), in the knowledge that he only needed to ask, and we’d stop to pet him. Marc also let Jonah give him full-on wet tongue kisses on his face, and that was a regular part of the post-dinner cuddling time. I usually had a more complete knowledge of where that mouth had been and was not into wet kisses. Jonah knew the difference. For me, I’d get a gentle touch to my cheek or nose from his big ol’ nose.

When we’d first found each other, he had a habit of approaching to give kisses with his mouth wide open and it looked like he was about to bite. I don’t think he was, it was just really unnerving. I tried telling him no, but he wasn’t learning restraint quickly and he was eager to make friends. So I decided to act like a dominant dog might and I bit his ear. As a bit of a germaphobe, this was a big deal for me to put his furry ear in my mouth. But I thought it needed to be done. I’m sure there are much better ways to teach a dog, and yet this was highly effective. I did it one time, just hard enough that he let out a quick yelp and then I let go. He never came in for a kiss so aggressively again. I did the same to teach him not to jump up on people. I’d tried the various tricks my friends had shared with me like shaking a jar of coins when he jumped. He thought everything was a new game to play. So I bit his ear for that as well and afterward, he would come up onto his back legs, but at a distance from the person. I called it his rearing pony.

I miss that silly guy more than anything. I miss the laughter and smiles he brought to my day. I’m thankful he’s out of pain, but I really wish he could have stayed a little longer to explore this new place with me. I know this sadness too will pass, and a part of me doesn’t want it to, because that, some photos, and these memories are all I have of him in this world.

I had wanted a dog for a very long time. I tried adopting one when I was first living on my own again in La Jolla. It lasted about a week. My cats were furious with me about the new “friend” and I had not thought through the level of commitment required to have a dog, particularly when one does not have a yard. So I took the dog back to its foster parents and promised myself someday.

Fast forward about six years. I had moved to Eureka for grad school. I still had only an apartment, but I had more time and I wanted something or someone to help me stay active in the dreary yet beautiful Pacific Northwest. So I started looking again for the right dog for me.

I had grand plans for what this dog would be like. I didn’t want a puppy as they required a little too much time than what I had. I thought a teenager the perfect age: they could sleep through the night without needing to go outside and they had already gone through the worst of the chewing phase. I also have allergies and occasional asthma, so I wanted a short-haired dog that didn’t shed a lot. And I have a love for the “bully” breeds: pit bulls, Dobermans, Rottweillers…the dogs that tend to be misunderstood. So I checked the local shelters and I waited. My boyfriend at the time had a dog and we’d look together. And I waited. One day, we found an ad for the perfect dog, Red Baron, who would be at the local Farm Store shelter event in a couple weeks.

We turned up to the event late during the final hour or two, because my boyfriend was late absolutely everywhere, and I had preferred to wait for him than to go alone. The site was arranged in a horseshoe, with vendors making up the outer ring of the circle. A large, chain-link kennel was in the middle of the circle. It was partitioned into three, with several dogs in each section. As we walked up to the circle to hunt for Matt’s sister and where to find Red Baron, I noticed the intent look of a handsome shepherd mix at the door of one kennel. Not Red Baron, but a striking dog.

We found Red Baron on the lap of a foster family member in a different part of the event. I introduced myself, but this dog had clearly bonded with his family and was in no way interested in me. “Oh well; he’s not the one.” While I wanted a dog and my life was in a good place for one, I also still rented an apartment and dogs were not permitted. I went back to the main event to look for my people. As I entered the circle, I met the focused gaze of that same shepherd mix.

Now for all I know, Jonah looked at everyone that way and I just happened to be the human that noticed him looking. Or maybe he didn’t; maybe he knew I was his person before I did. Both stories exemplify who Jonah is: a dog who absolutely loved everyone he met, including me.

I asked a little about him and if I could go in. He was about 70 pounds and a year and a half old. I entered the kennel and he immediately tried to jump on me. I told him “no” and put my hand out, trying to show him what I wanted from him. We didn’t know each other at all, but I could see he was trying to understand and do what I asked. I was impressed. He was in a new environment, stressed and tired, yet still trying to please.

As I came to know, he’d been abandoned about nine months earlier in a stolen car with the windows rolled up and left on the Eel River. A no-kill rescue had taken him in as a youngster and cared for him. They had a lot of animals, so they had not been able to give a lot of time to training or individual attention. He was clearly a smart dog and willing, he just needed someone to spend time with him. I found Kate and Matt to find out their thoughts; Kate had been at a booth near the kennel all day and had noticed him too.

The event was ending and, knowing his story and how long he had been without a person of his own, I couldn’t bear the thought of him going back to the rescue. Matt said he’d help me with him since I knew nothing about training and wasn’t supposed to have a dog in my apartment. I paid the cost of his adoption with the money in my wallet, gas and spending money my sweet mum had given me because I was a student again. We went into the store and bought the few things I needed for him that Matt didn’t have: a collar and a leash are all I remember. Then we loaded into Matt’s car and drove home with Jonah falling asleep in the back like a kid with FOMO: his eyes and body drooping into sleep, only to wake up and drift off again.