Through Family Chaos, Our Dog Held Strong

He was a beagle mix with short legs, a loud bark and a big heart. That last part — and his unusually long and regal-sounding name — made Oboe Bolognese Troesken Emaus anything but an average pet.

This dog was no stranger to change. He adapted well. He had to. Our family won the upheaval lottery during Oboe’s life.

His story starts in front of a grocery store, where someone was giving away puppies. My daughter and granddaughter immediately fell in love with this little guy. He was about 6 months old. To his last breath, no one knew his birthdate.

My daughter’s family took Oboe for regular vet visits, got him his shots and kept him well-fed. A great beginning to what would become a complicated life.

Around the time Oboe turned 5, my daughter and her husband divorced. Then, after another problematic relationship ended, my daughter moved in with me — back into her childhood bedroom. Although her ex-husband and youngest child begged to take the dog to their home, my daughter kept Oboe. She insisted that she needed her canine friend for support as she began her sobriety.

I already had two doggie family members, so what’s one more? Besides another mouth to feed, another four-legged friend to walk and more work for the pooper scooper?

Oboe slept in my daughter’s arms after her drug-induced episodes. He walked by her side during sleepless nights. But eventually, Oboe was left behind when my daughter entered a rehab facility.

He waddled from room to room, following her lingering scent, until after a few months, it faded away.

Then, as fate would have it, my mother’s dog died, leaving my mom with a hole in her heart. Oboe moved in to fill that space. Each morning as my mom showered, Oboe sat on the bathroom rug. He curled up by her feet as she read the paper. All day he listened to her non-stop chatter, only leaving her side for pee breaks.

A few years later, my granddaughter moved in. I converted my home office into a bedroom. Suddenly, Oboe was reunited with the girl, now a young woman, who had plucked him from in front of the market. Nightly, he waited by her bedroom door for her return from evenings out with friends.

During her sleepless nights, his furry body welcomed her tears of worry and fears about her future. But after a year in my house, she too moved on, leaving Oboe again looking for someone to comfort. By then, my mom was lost in her dementia, so that person became me.

I told Oboe my secrets and treated him to his favorite snacks as he curled up on the end of my bed. I often woke up in the middle of the night to find him staring at me. His eyes seemed to belong to an old soul, one telling me that despite my husband’s illness and my mom’s declining mental state, life was going to be OK.

But it became obvious that Oboe’s wasn’t.