Dewey was, by most standards, a terrible dog.
He smelled terrible—always—even right after a bath. He didn’t like kids and had strong opinions about other dogs.
He smacked his lips constantly, filling the room with those awful, wet sounds only he could make. He was stubborn, loud, and far from easy.
But he loved me more than anything in this world. And I loved him just as fiercely.
Credit: aggressivelysouthern
Dewey didn’t need the world to understand him. He just needed me. Whether we were walking in the woods or sitting quietly at home, if I was there, he was happy. That’s all he ever wanted—to be by my side.
His deafness made life more challenging, especially when things startled him. But we adapted together.
His custom muzzle—designed just for him—was lightweight and allowed him to yawn, eat snacks, and drink without discomfort.
Credit: aggressivelysouthern
His e-collar never delivered a shock. I used the vibrate setting to gently get his attention and the soft light to keep track of him during our walks in the trees behind our house.
We learned how to move through the world in a way that worked for him—with patience, care, and quiet understanding.
Dewey didn’t play by the rules of a “good dog.” But to me, he was the best kind. Loyal, honest, unapologetically himself. He was my horrible dog. And he was also a deeply good boy.
Credit: aggressivelysouthern
I’ll miss him forever.
Sleep well, Dewey. Thank you for choosing me, loving me, and making our life uniquely yours. You left paw prints I’ll never be able to wash away—and I wouldn’t want to.
