Brother Dog

"Oh Nicholai, I loved you so-o-,

I wonder why, you had to go-o-o.

I feel so lonely now that you're gone,

Oh Nicholai, why did you go?"

The home-made tune wafted to me over air rushing through partly open car windows and whining girl-dogs as we sped along the highway to the Sandy River. Blue sky overhead, sunshine, tennis balls, and a plastic bucket for berry-picking, we were set for a lovely upbeat morning. I joined Tim in his ode to a Dead Dog, my heart light. After a couple repeats, we sank into silence except for the panting of the girls, their eyes on the road ahead, quivering with anticipation.

"We're almost there; could you grab the balls please?" No answer from my talkative-to-a-fault kid. A glance in the rear view mirror showed a sobbing nine-year-old. I reached my hand between the seats. "Oh, bub," I said. "I'm sorry, I miss him too."

"I don't feel as brave as when he was here. Even if he was away with you, I still felt braver than I feel now." More sobs. "I've known for almost my whole life, he was my brother!" What can I say? "Why did he have to die too soon?" Hell if I know. "I hope he waits in Heaven for me to get there; I hope he doesn't go away."

When Tim came to live with us, he was three and a half years old and we constituted his ninth home. That's right – nine homes in three years. Birth parents, foster homes, a failed adoptive home, more foster homes. He was the poster child for attachment problems and at the tender age of three, came with a warning – "can be cruel to animals." Into our household he came, where not only a sibling but four dogs greeted him. Over weeks and months of trials and tribulations, we struggled to gain his confidence and rebuild the trust so severely broken before we ever met him. We supervised every canine-child moment for fear of harm one way or another. Then one day as Tim cried heartfelt tears over lost families, he recited a litany of names – every lost dog and cat family member since he had conscious memory. I was struck with the realization that his "cruelty" was born of the need to repel the instant and deep connection animals offered him. Experience had shown him clearly that forging bonds of love was a wasted effort, doomed only to heartbreak. Hence the pushing, shoving, kicking – keeping those damned critters out of his bruised, but not entirely broken, heart.

Our dogs won him over, one by one. And now, one by one, he's had to say good bye, not as he's shuttled to another home, but as his dogblings take their final and inevitable curtain calls. His open grief over losing his brother and protector Nicholai is a yardstick by which I can see how far he's come in the heart department.

We held hands and sang another verse to Brother Dog.

"Oh Nicholai up in the sky,

Watch over us with your loving eye.

Don't forget us, though we're left behind,

And please wait for us wherever you are."