Love Harder

When the vet told me my dog Rocket had three months to live, I couldn't stop crying. I already missed him, and he was right there.

That is such a strange experience: loving someone who is still with you while knowing you are going to lose them.

I decided to take a road trip with Rocket and Rory from Austin to a dog-friendly home in Scottsdale. I wanted that time with them.

The trip was not exactly peaceful. I was in a minivan with my luggage and two dogs, driving through West Texas. There were long stretches without gas, a gas station that had run out of gas, and a dog that jumped out of a yard while I was trying to walk mine safely.

My back hurt. At a hotel, a car alarm went off in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed convinced someone was stealing my stuff and ran outside with Rocket. Rory didn't even get up.

I could have made the trip much easier. But I wanted to do this with my dogs.

He didn't know he was dying

When we got to Tucson, we stayed at the Ritz-Carlton, where there were hiking trails and room for the dogs. At that point, Rocket was behaving normally.

He wanted me to throw his ball forty times, and I did. He wanted to sleep in the middle of my bed, and he did. He wanted treats, and he got them.

We hiked, and I watched him run, frolic, and chase bunnies. At lunch, he lay by my feet while people wanted to pet him and tell us how cute he was.

And I cried. I cried through lunch with my sunglasses on. I cried on hikes and before I fell asleep.

He didn't know what I knew. He was just being Rocket.

Paying attention to everything

I kept trying to love him harder, as if I could give him all of it at once.

I noticed his little teeth and his crooked underbite. His teeth didn't quite fit in his mouth, so sometimes they hung out. His pink tongue would stick out, too.

I also noticed the growth on his leg, the inoperable one filled with cancer.

And I noticed how much this dog loved me. He followed me, sat by me, licked me, and never wanted me out of his sight.

Every time I came back into a room, he celebrated. He spun in a circle and wiggled his little button of a tail until his whole body shook.

In those moments, nothing else mattered to me. Not money, business, success, service, or contribution. Just Rocket. His face. His ball. His treats.

The sweetness of unconditional love

I love loving this dog. I love being with him.

It is so simple. Nothing he does bothers me. The love feels pure and good, even while the experience hurts.

That is unconditional love. To me, it is one of the sweetest experiences we get as humans.

I was thinking about the time I had to love him and be loved by him. I sat looking at him for a long time, noticing how deeply I was appreciating him.

Then I realized that we are all dying.

We don't know how long we have. We don't know how long anyone we love has. We don't know when we will lose someone.

Rory didn't know Rocket was dying. Rocket didn't know. I didn't know whether I had it better because I knew, or whether they did because they didn't.

But knowing gave me the opportunity to love him harder and appreciate him more deeply.

Love each other harder

What if we brought that awareness to the people who are with us now?

Look at the person next to you. Look at your spouse, your kids, your animals. Look at yourself.

How could you love them this hard? How could you love yourself this hard?

How could you drop into the pure joy and pain of life right now, knowing that none of us knows how much time we have?

I will love better because I knew Rocket. Choosing to be with him and to love him through this experience will make me better.

Look around. You never know. Love each other harder.