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His name was Stuart and he looked like he had descended from the heavens, with the white shining coat of an angel, the deep booming bork of Zeus, and the barrel-like chest of Thor. Though a strong name, “Stuart” made me think of Stewie from Family Guy, as opposed to the wingless Pegasus standing in front of me.

Doggo & Daddo on April 1, 2017, the first day.

After much deliberation and brainstorming, we settled on Gaius Octavius the Destroyer, Guardian of the Stairs, which we eventually shortened into Doggo. Other names for him included Tavi, Octo, Octo-dog, Sir, and The Extra Couch.

We met Doggo at the Appalachian Great Pyrenees Rescue in VA. He was one of roughly thirty other Great Pyrenees dogs currently being cared for by the organization. Celeste introduced us to each of the dogs individually, we walked four of them, and then we asked Vicky which dog she thought was right for us. She said, “Stuart,” without hesitation. So we walked him again, and Josh asked me, “Which dog do you think is right for us?” And I said, “Stuart, of course.”

We signed the paperwork, the lorge boy (at that time around 95 pounds) got a nice brush and a nail trim, and then we opened the trunk of our tiny Hyundai Accent hatchback. He hopped right in, like he’d been waiting for this car ride his whole life.

In the car on the way back to Baltimore from VA.

The whole way back to Baltimore, people driving past us pointed and smiled at the enormous pup in our tiny car, and when we arrived back at our house, we quickly found that his adjustment to our home would be quick. He didn’t even notice the cats for three full weeks. But he found the couch right away, hopped right up on it and curled up in the corner. This would become his preferred napping place for the next five years.

We started walking him in the neighborhood right away, keeping the walks short. But he soon proved that not only did he enjoy longer walks, he preferred them, so our one-mile jaunts became two, became three, became six or seven miles at a time. I carried a backpack with water and a bowl, some treats, and dog bags. We explored the whole of the 133-acre park near our house, wandered down to the waterfront, and even made the two-mile stroll (there and back) down to the Inner Harbor of Baltimore City a few times.

One day when we were out walking as a family, Doggo sniffed at a bush and immediately dove inside it. We dragged him out and found a chicken drumstick protruding from the side of his mouth. We promptly excavated it and relocated the entire container of take-out chicken someone had left in the bush to the nearest trash can. But from that day forward, anytime we walked by, Doggo always made sure to see if the chicken bush had borne any more fruit.

After we’d been in Baltimore for a year or so, and had become friendly with our neighbors, we decided to take down a section of the fence between our houses, effectively doubling (more than doubling) the size of our yard. The neighbors had a rambunctious labradoodle named Dexter, and Dexter and Doggo quickly became best friends. They wrestled, borked, and shared treats. Doggo learned where Dexter’s food bowl was, and Dexter learned that we had cats.

The humans in the situation developed a system of alerting one another when either Doggo or Dexter was spending some time in the green space, but weren’t always perfect about it. Many times, Doggo would wander next door, and if they had left the back door open for fresh air, he would make his way straight for Dexter’s food bowl. Sometimes he would even bark at their back door, and then when they opened it to see who was there (always Doggo lol), he would have a surprise playdate with his best frendo and get some extra scrotches from Aunt Sammy and Uncle Andrew. Dexter, of course, managed to sneak into Doggo’s house many times—he didn’t care so much for Doggo’s food, but went straight to hunting Doggo’s cat siblings.

Doggo asking to be let into the neighbor’s house.

Doggo was a very smart boy. He knew all number of English words, from “sit,” “stay,” and “go lie down,” to “beg,” “wait,” “heel,” “up,” “down,” “no,” “back,” a double whistle which meant “hurry up” and which we used for crossing the road, “do you want to go,” “car ride,” “walk,” “chicken,” and “cheese.” Of course, all commands were optional in his mind (he was a Great Pyrenees after all!), but he understood them even if he ignored us.

Doggo spent most of his time sleeping. He had a specific system for determining where he preferred to nap, doing calculations based on temperature + humidity + type of floor material x where Mom was, and if Daddo was home from work, then of course Doggo was as close to him as he could possibly get at all times.

His favorite activities other than napping included borking at the post office person, borking at the evil birds, and borking at motorcycles. He also enjoyed scrotches, burying bones, and receiving treats. The first time we gave him a rawhide bone, he grabbed it and marched to the back door, demanding to be let out. We let him go, just to see what he did. He took several passes around the yard before selecting a corner in the back where he dug a hole, dropped in the bone, and promptly used his nose to cover it back up with dirt.

Another favorite past time of Doggo’s was car rides. He didn’t care where we were going if it meant he could hop into the back of the car (we did get a larger one lol). Long car rides, short car rides—they were all the best thing ever. Car rides were also great for thunderstorms and fireworks, both of which he found absolutely terrifying.

Daddo and Doggo at the Canton Waterfront park with the water taxi in the background.

Sometimes at the end of the day, we would drive (or walk) down to the Canton Waterfront Park, where Daddo would be arriving after work. When Daddo got off the boat, Doggo would make a beeline straight for him, ignoring all the friendly other people offering hands for scrotches or making comments like, “omg look at that dog” or “he’s a floofer!” or “are polar bears allowed in the city?” All he wanted was Josh, and it wasn’t until he had received sufficient pets from Daddo that he would even deign to notice anyone else in the vicinity.

Doggo also very much enjoyed the longer car rides we took to visit his grandparents. Once, we were visiting my parents in NY and took him for a long walk in the field. He found several deer hangout spots, and it was at one of these where we first saw him drop down onto one shoulder and roll in the dirt. Rolling always made him happy—in dirt, dead animal smells, grass, and snow.

Visiting Josh’s parents was an even longer journey, but he loved NH. His favorite place to hang out was under Josh’s parents back steps, a nice, cool, gravelly spot perfect for both watching and napping at the same time. He could keep an eye on his flock of humans, while also being certain he would be the first to see any evil turkeys if they wandered into view, so he could bork loudly enough to scare them off and ensure the safety of his people.

In 2021 we moved from Baltimore to rural Pennsylvania to a much larger house. No longer did he have to wiggle backwards to get out of the narrow spaces that filled our old row-house. He could sprawl out in a dozen different spots in the same room, walk in circles around the house with a bone, and actually turn around without having to back up. (Though in Baltimore he had become very good at following the command, “Back!”)

The PA house came with something else he loved: an enormous backyard filled with birds, rabbits, foxes, deer—even a bear. In Baltimore, we never worried about Doggo running off. He stuck by us no matter what. But the few times we attempted letting him hang out with us off-leash in PA, he would go trotting off down the hill to check out the tree where the rabbits lived, or pee on the same spot as all the foxes. He never went far—just checked the borders of the property and came back. But the yard was just too interesting to ignore.

The thing about Doggo was that he loved everyone. He would stand beside a complete stranger for hours if they would just pet him. In groups, he would walk from person to person, either kindly requesting or gently demanding scrotches. He would lean against you if you were standing up, and sometimes the Pyr paw would reach out and smack you if you dared to stop petting him. He made anyone who spent any time with him feel special.

Doggo in the yard in PA, probably hoping the new neighbors Jerry & Becca would come over and give him scrotches.

He didn’t even have to try to weasel his way into people’s hearts. Everyone loved him, even people who didn’t love dogs. Children could run up to him and throw their arms around his neck, and he would just stand there and accept the love. He had human friends in Baltimore (complete strangers to Josh and I) who knew him on sight, and would run over to say hi anytime we were out for a walk. He was also good with other dogs in most situations, and had a number of other pups he liked to sniff and play with. He was a gentle giant with a calm spirit and oversized charm. A cuddly teddy bear, if a drooly one.

But of course Doggo loved no one more than he loved Josh, aka Daddo. If his favorite things included napping, walks, car rides, and treats, those things weren’t quite as good if Daddo wasn’t there. Daddo scrotches were the best kind. Car rides with Daddo meant he was having the best day. Treats from Daddo tasted better than any other treat. Daddo naps (in the human bed, nonetheless) were the best naps. Couch time with Daddo in the evenings were his absolute favorite, especially when there were pizza crusts around. The only thing he liked more from Mom (me lol) was going on long rambling, treat-filled walks through Baltimore City.

Daddo checking his work email with Doggo’s “assistance”

And in 2020 when Josh started working from home, Doggo’s life went from great to the greatest. Now Daddo was around all day, 24/7. He could sleep next to Josh during the day, get scrotches at 10 AM instead of having to wait until 5 PM, got mid-day walks around the block at lunchtime, and received a steady stream of treats from the treat jar on Daddo’s desk all day long.

And when Doggo started to get old and not feel so well, it was Daddo who he laid next to on the floor, Daddo who he wanted walks around the yard with, and Daddo to give him his daily medicine.

Doggo was truly the best dog who ever lived. He filled a big hole in our hearts we didn’t even know was there. And now that hole is back, it hurts more than we ever could have imagined.

Our years with Doggo were some of the best of our lives, and he will never, ever, be forgotten.