Doggonit, John Stewart made me cry.

Like most evenings I lay on my bed entangled with Moe, his big furry body pressed close to mine, his head resting on my chest, a huge paw slung over my leg as I watch TV. It has become our predictable pattern.

But Monday night (February 26)  I was unprepared for the tears that were shed watching Jon Stewart host The Daily Show.

The political commentator broke down and choked back tears and it had nothing to do with the state of our democracy.

At the end of the show, Stewart took a personal moment to share with us the recent passing of his longtime, beloved dog Dipper. Mourning his dog he barely got through without sobbing.

He gave the backstory of how the three-legged brindle pit bull came into his family’s life, adopting him from a no-kill shelter in New York City. The dog who had lost a leg after being hit by a car in Brooklyn melted his heart and they adopted him, twelve years ago

“In a world of good boys, he was the best,”  Stewart said softly his voice breaking as I hugged my own good boy even tighter.

He said the dog was ready but he wasn’t…

We never are.

Shared Grief

Yesterday afternoon, playtime at Moe’s dog park took on a new poignancy. A space where the unspoken rule among dog owners is that politics is never spoken about, the talk on Tuesday was all about Jon Stewart. And it wasn’t his unfortunate mocking of Joe Biden’s age that was on everyone’s mind.

Jon Stewart walking his dog Dipper

It was about  Dipper, and the authentic way Jon Stewart spoke to and for all of us who have lost a pet and know the profound pain. Not a single soul in this group had not had that experience of loss, more often than not multiple losses. Stories were shared spontaneously among strangers, opening up about the heartbreak of each lost dog, their faces softening and eyes welling in tears in remembrance of this lost beloved family member as powerful a memory whether 6 years ago, or 6 months.

The loss of my dog Stanley this past August was acute. For months I could not get through conversations without sobbing and breaking down.

Alone in my empty house, his absence was keenly felt. There was no buffer to absorb the pain as I sobbed. No Stanley to help ground me as disparate feelings and thoughts ricocheted through my brain, pinging around like a pinball machine.

I would pace the house room by room in search of him as I have every day, seeking the physical comfort I craved that I could get from no one else. To feel understood. Stanley like all dogs, always listened with his heart, providing a level of primal understanding that never required words.

We don’t talk about grief publicly, and in the pecking order of grief, some may put the loss of a pet below that of a human. Those who have had the fortune to have a dog know this to be false.

Sally Edelstein and Moe, her rescue dog as Stanley looks on in the background

When Stewart choked up on Monday night, so did I as I lay on my bed entangled with my rescue dog hugging him even tighter even as I glanced over to my dresser at the wooden box of Stanley’s remains.

We bring our dogs into our lives with the knowledge that we will likely outlive them. They are here with us for such a short time. Too short. We wonder if we can ever bear that pain again, and why would we choose to do so. But even after my devastation of losing Stanley, my grief left me with such an open heart, so much love to give it had to land somewhere.

Then I hug Moe and I know.

Loving a dog comes with this knowledge, but it is one we blessedly forget the moment we lay eyes on a new dog and fall in love.