His name was Deuce. We called him “Deuce the Moose” because he grew into a big, lovable Golden Retriever. He came into our lives when our son Timmy was just four and a half years old and had recently been diagnosed as high-functioning autistic. We were looking for a dog that could be gentle and intuitive, something special for our family. After talking with a breeder in Roseau, about two and a half hours away, we made the trip up north.
On the drive to Roseau, the breeder’s wife called us. She asked if we could keep Timmy a little separated from our daughter Gracee when we arrived. Her husband and her wanted to test something they had a feeling about. When we got there, they took us to the quonset. The husband opened the door, and a wild bunch of fluffy puppies tumbled out. They made a beeline for our daughter Gracee and my wife Melanie, climbing all over them in a whirlwind of energy. Gracee giggled while the puppies jumped on her, full of joy and chaos.
But then, one puppy, wearing a yellow collar, came out last. He didn’t charge around like the others. He just observed, watching his siblings bounce around Gracee. Then he turned his head toward Timmy. Calmly, without any rush or excitement, he made his way over to our son. He didn’t jump. He didn’t bark. He just sniffed him gently. What was truly incredible is Timmy had never liked dogs. Normally he would cry or try to get away, but with this puppy, he stood still.
There are lots of moments Deuce stepped up to be there for everyone, one moment I remember is when one of our kids moved in with us. She had been through a situation that was incredibly traumatic. She built a little wall around the bottom bunk of the girls’ bunk bed, enclosing herself in blankets for safety and privacy. Deuce didn’t try to break that barrier. Instead, he just laid outside of it. And then we saw her small hand reach out from that blanket wall to pet him. That quiet act of love and trust said everything. Deuce knew she was hurting, and he gave her the peace of his presence.
Each of our kids, whether biological, step, or adopted, had their own bond with Deuce. Dogs have a way of meeting people right where they are. They don’t need words to understand sadness or anxiety. They offer stability when life feels out of control. Deuce did that for every one of our kids, whether it was curling up beside them during a bad day or just being a steady figure in their world close by for them to rub his belly.
He was also fiercely protective. One day, our neighbor called to tell us he’d seen a little girl in the yard next to ours running around with a big Golden Retriever who seemed to be trying to herd her back in the other direction. The little girl was laughing and dodging, clearly thinking it was a game, but the dog wasn’t letting up. That’s when our neighbor realized it was Gracee and Deuce. Somehow, they had gotten out of our fenced backyard. Deuce was doing everything in his power to keep her close and steer her back home. Our neighbor stepped in and helped Deuce get Gracee back into the yard and closed the gate behind them. Even when I thought the kids were safe and went inside, Deuce was still out there doing his job being a protector watching and making sure no one got too far.
Melanie, my wife, was never a dog person. But Deuce didn’t care. He’d stand right in her way until she gave him attention. He was persistent, and funny, about it too. He knew she’d eventually give in and share her food or rub his ears. Over time, their bond deepened, especially after she left a stressful job and spent more time at home. He was always beside her.
But Deuce was especially my shadow. He was my partner in parenting, my daily companion, my old man sidekick. When the kids were at school, it was him and I. We’d walk, he’d hang around while I fixed things around the house, and he was always quietly supporting me through the daily grind. I was never alone at home. Not until now. That’s what hurts the most. The absence of his footsteps, his old man grunts when he was scratching those hard to reach spots on himself. The silence is so loud without him.
There are still little things that remind us of him all the time. His signature grunt when he scratched himself. His love of winter. He was like a kid every time it snowed. At our old house, we had a small hill in the backyard, and Deuce would climb to the top, roll onto his back, and slide down like he was on a sled. Even when he lost his vision later in life, he’d still roll around in the snow like nothing had changed. Every snowfall will remind me of him. I used to look forward to watching the Moose do his thing.
Deuce was more than a pet. He was family. He was a guardian of hearts, a steady friend, and a quiet force of healing. We were lucky to have him.
Happy Birthday Deuce, you are missed and loved.
