Eddie Has Left the Building

You ever meet someone for the first time and immediately experience a powerful gut reaction? One where you instantly know that your lives are meant to be intertwined? The kind of reaction that says, “I gotta get to know this person.” I remember that feeling the first time I met him.

We bonded instantly over my two favorite things in the world—sports and music. He was obsessed with playing ball, at all hours of the day. Dude was happy just lying around with a ball nearby. He was into Frisbee more than me, but I played along.

With music, we were soulmates. The louder and harder the better. We regularly rocked out to Anthrax, Iron Maiden, Slayer, and Van Halen, much to our neighbors’ dismay. He’d jump up from a dead sleep to join me while I moshed around the living room. He’d chase me and raise a raucous while we rocked out.

It was music that gave him a name that ultimately matched his intensity. He was named after my favorite guitarist, Edward Van Halen, and the Iron Maiden mascot—Eddie.

We met serendipitously as I accompanied my wife to a weekend animal welfare event at a pet store in Narberth. Buzzy’s, I think. She promised it would be a quick check-in to say hello to some friends. While she chit-chatted, I wandered the store.

I strolled down an aisle and there he was. He was lying on the white, tiled floor. He looked tired but adorable. A mostly black and white border collie puppy. His eyes pointed skyward toward mine without moving his head. They immediately screamed, “Duuuuuuuude.”

I dragged my wife over to meet Orbit, that was his name at the time. She agreed with his cuteness but thought I was crazy. Adding a third dog to our tiny home with two female border-collie mutts did seem bonkers. So, I called a friend to talk some sense to me. He did the opposite and encouraged me.

Minutes later, I was in the parking lot filling out an adoption application from the PSPCA mobile adoption truck. Twenty-four hours later, we drove to the PSPCA’s physical location on Erie Avenue to bring Orbit home.

Orbit became Eddie on the ride home. His older sisters, Chloe and Betsy wanted nothing to do with this bundle of boy-puppy energy. Within four weeks, they would cuddle together on our couch. His love and emotional intelligence were contagious.

Eddie chased down tennis balls like they stole his wallet and leaped high into the air for Frisbees until he practically collapsed with exhaustion. Oh, and he loved the karaoke machine we purchased. He’d bark along as we sang, the louder the better.

The only thing he enjoyed more than playing ball was eating. If you were two minutes behind on food time, he’d give ya the business with relentless barking. The dude basically ate the same dry kibble every day but would roll around on the floor with happiness every darn morning after he finished eating like he just chowed down on a sirloin steak from Butcher & Singer. If we chanted “Go Eddie, Go Eddie” he’d roll around longer and with more intensity.

The dude loved head rubs. Like, actual head rubs—forehead to forehead. He’d grunt and purr while rubbing his forehead into yours. He was also ride-or-die. He protected his house and those he loved. We once confronted a guy trying to break into a neighbor’s house. As the guy approached, he went into street fighter mode and the guy ran off. And, when his sister Betsy lie taking her final breaths, he wedged himself next to her to be by her side. He had an emotional awareness unlike any I’ve ever seen.

On Monday, October 17^th he ran around the house chasing and wrestling his little brother. On Thursday morning, he woke up with a flare-up of a condition he’d been battling since the pandemic started. On Friday, October 21^st at about 3:30 p.m., Eddie passed at home in his bed on our living room floor rubbing heads with him me, and his mom. He lived twenty months with a condition they expected to take him after six to eight months. Dude was a champ.

It’s been a few days. The sobbing doesn’t happen as often. Our house feels empty. Our house sounds quiet. I miss the pitter-patter of his excited paws pacing as we prepared his meals. Moshing to loud music alone feels awkward. Seeing the tennis balls around the house and in our car crushes me. I feel like I lost my son, my buddy, and my rowdy partner-in-crime all at once.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this other than, to me, writing feels like healing. If you’ve made it this far, hug your dogs and cats today no matter what mischief they cause. Hug your loved ones. Enjoy your time together. We were lucky enough to have fourteen years and eight months with Eddie, but I’d do anything for one more day.

We had one helluva run with Eddie. Hopefully, he is somewhere surrounded by his sisters, a sea of tennis balls, and someone feeding him on time. God help them if they aren’t. Miss ya bud.