The Lessons of Loving an Old Dog

I've had my Irish Terrier, Bono, since he was 12 weeks old. My husband and I adopted him in the summer of 2010—around the same time the iPad was invented, Lady Gaga wore that infamous meat dress to the MTV Music Awards, and Kesha's "TikTok" was topping the Billboard charts. (Looking back, I'm not sure which has aged better—my dog or my playlist from that era.)

While U2's frontman Bono might sing about finding what he's looking for, our Bono showed us what we never knew we needed: a master class in unconditional love disguised as a wirey, insanely hyper terrier.

Our First Lesson in Selfless Love

Bono was our first lesson in learning to love, not just for the sake of ourselves, but in a selfless way. Before him, "responsibility" meant showing up to work on time and remembering to pay the electric bill. After him, it meant restructuring our entire lives around another being's needs.

He taught us how to be parents before we had human children—waking up early, training, walking, and trips to the dog park. We started setting aside our hard-earned money, not for brunch dates or new gadgets, but for dog medicine, vet bills, and training classes.

In retrospect, it was the best preparation for parenthood we could have asked for.

The Shadow of Mortality

This fall, Bono was diagnosed with a condition where the vet thought he'd only have a few days to live. We held him and cried. We wondered if this would be the last walk or cuddle on the couch together. My son and his 6th grade bandmates wrote a ballad for Bono.

Six months later, he's still with us.

Watching him age has been a profound reminder of mortality. These days, he needs lots of walks, he's totally deaf, and climbing the stairs has become a challenge. Yet there's a dignity in his determination that humbles me daily.

We've developed a language of small things. The particular tilt of his head when he wants a walk. The way he paws the food bowl for more treats. The soft groan when I pet him on the couch—part contentment, part the creaky protest of old joints.

Our communication has deepened even as his hearing has faded. We are fluent in the wordless poetry of longtime companions.

Finding Kairos in Chronos

Even when it's a lot of work (which it is as he ages and his needs increase), it's another opportunity to deepen my own internal capacity for gratitude and grief. These emotions no longer arrive as separate visitors—they come together, teaching me how to hold both simultaneously.

It's really that liminal, threshold space—between chronos and kairos time. There's not much chronos time left—the days and weeks are shrinking—but the kairos time, the larger story of companionship, love, and trust, is beautiful and expanding still.

The math of time has shifted. Each day feels both longer and more precious. I measure happiness not in grand adventures but in small victories: a good appetite, a comfortable sleep, a moment of playfulness that reminds us both of the puppy he once was.

What Home Feels Like

When I think of my sense of home—of feeling safe, loved, and seen—Bono has been that for me. That constant companionship, joyful adventures, and soft grace of presence.

I find that as Bono ages, I want to detach because it's hard to love and not watch a being grow, but instead decline. Yet, perhaps that's the most important lesson: that love and loss aren't opposite ends of a spectrum but rather intertwined companions on the same journey.

The Hard Choices

I know there are hard decisions yet to come, especially as we reckon with the truth that loving well sometimes means letting go.

There is something deeply circular about caring for a dog in their elder years. They come to us as puppies, needing everything—food, shelter, training, patience. And in the end, the circle completes itself. We become their caretakers in a new way, providing the same fundamental care but with a history between us that makes it sacred.

Grief & Gratitude

Someday, perhaps sooner than I want to admit, my old dog will leave me. But he will have taught me how to love better—not just other animals, but the humans in my life who will also age, who will also need care, who will also face the vulnerability of bodies that change.

This is the legacy of loving an old dog: they prepare our hearts for the fullness of human love in all its complexity. They teach us to cherish what remains rather than mourn what is lost.

And in their quiet companionship through the final chapter, they remind us that love, at its core, is not about grand gestures but about showing up day after day, adapting as needed, and remaining present to both the joy and the sorrow.

For now, I'm grateful for each extra day with Bono—each one a gift I wasn't sure we'd have.

In loving an old dog, I've found that grief and gratitude aren't opposites at all.

They're companions, teaching us the fullness of what it means to love completely.

Bono while I was writing this Substack post