A Dog’s Grace: Living in the Moment with Sailor

This month, Sailor, my faithful companion, turns twelve. For over a decade, we’ve spoiled him shamelessly—memory foam beds for his naps, three-foot-long rawhides for his chewing pleasure, and even splurging on pet-friendly accommodations so he could join us on family vacations.

My dad doesn’t quite understand. “He’s just a dog,” he says.

But even he softens on Sundays, watching Sailor limp in after rolling joyfully in the grass all afternoon, his graying face illuminated by his pink, panting tongue. It’s then Dad admits the truth we both feel: “It’s going to hurt when that one goes.”

Sailor came into our lives unexpectedly, bought for a few dollars at a yard sale when he was just a floppy-eared puppy. The chain-smoking woman who sold him swore he was a beagle. But when Sailor grew tall and strong, with the legs of a Labrador, no one cared about the label anymore. He’d already rooted himself into our hearts.

He was there for the early-morning walks on Highland Avenue, through seasons of change and years of beginnings. He let our first-born tug at his ears without a growl. He turned every rental house, every temporary stop along the way, into a home. Sailor wasn’t just a dog—he was family.

Now, with his age catching up to him, the inevitable looms closer. I can feel the shadow of that day creeping nearer, the day when Sailor won’t be by my side anymore. It’s a thought that pulls me away from life’s distractions and plants me firmly in the present.

Tonight, we sit together in the backyard. The sun has just slipped beneath the treetops, leaving a soft darkness behind. The first star of the night glimmers faintly above, and my mind starts to wander. It travels to the painful future when Sailor is no longer here, to the emptiness that will follow the loss of his gentle presence.

Then, as if sensing my thoughts, Sailor leans over and drags his long, slobbery tongue across my face. The unexpected grace of that moment snaps me back to the here and now.

We sit in the warm summer air, the bullfrogs singing their evening symphony from the ditch. I try to hold on to everything—this fleeting, beautiful moment—before it slips away.

The soft glow of my parents’ television across the street. Paw Paw staring out his window, lost in thought. The sound of my children giggling in their bedrooms. Katie carefully painting her toenails pink.

And Sailor, with his gray-ringed eyes, looking at me with quiet understanding. My chest aches with the weight of emotions I can’t name, emotions too fragile to exist outside the sanctuary of the heart. My thoughts begin to spiral, the hum of worry rising, threatening to drown out the serenity of the night.

But then, Sailor saves me again. Another sloppy, stinking lick pulls me back.

This time, I let go of the future. I let go of the fear of what’s coming. And for a moment, I just sit with him, grateful for his unspoken wisdom: to live fully in the now, to savor the warmth of the night, and to trust that, for today, this is enough.

This rewritten version emphasizes the emotional depth of the relationship between the narrator and Sailor, weaving in a reflective tone that captures the fleeting nature of time and the quiet wisdom pets bring to our lives.