This is a column I knew I would have to write one day, but wished I never would.

A few days ago, my wife and I had to say goodbye to Noble, our pit bull mix dog who has been a member of the Crosby household for almost 13 years.  I’ve never had a dog live that long which makes the parting that much more hurtful.

Combined with our previous family dog Buster who was with us for over 12 years, my wife and I have had a dog for 25 of the 29 years we’ve been married.  Except for the nine months between the two dogs, our two boys do not know what home is like without a dog.

We adopted Noble from the Pasadena Humane Society on January 19, 2011.  He was about a year old so still very much a puppy in terms of behavior.  One of the workers there pointed out that he had a blue sticker on his card that meant he doesn’t interact well with other dogs, a common trait of pit bulls. 

Unlike headline stories, the vast majority of these dogs are wonderful with people.  Neither one of our pit bulls every attacked a person including our sons when they were infants.

Noble had a strong presence so we nicknamed him Personality Plus and Mr. Intensity.  His habits were always entertaining.  Every time he went outside to the backyard, he’d turn left and proceed clockwise around the perimeter of the yard making sure the coast was clear for us to come out.

Like other dogs, Noble liked the sun and followed it inside the house from room to room, making sure his head was bathed in the warmth by continuously readjusting his position on the carpet or his pillow.

Noble could recognize the engines of our cars from the street as we approached the driveway.  He would bark incessantly until the back door was opened so he could greet my wife or myself.  Then, per usual, lead us to the laundry room for his treat (wheat bread with peanut butter).

Whenever we had a visitor, he’d be sure to greet them at the door, then head into the laundry room to receive a treat.

When my wife ate her dinner on a TV tray in the living room, Noble would be frantically rolling his body on his back on the rug next to her, twisting himself into a comma while waiting for the leftovers.

There’s a hilarious video of my youngest son using a bubble wand in the backyard with a younger Noble leaping high in the air to burst each one of them.  That’s before he tore his ligaments and lost power in his hind legs.

If I went to lay on my bed, Noble wanted me to get of the bedroom and go into the living room with him.  So, he’d poke his muzzle into my body to get me up.  How I wish I could feel his wet nose on my hand one more time.

The cleverest trick Noble performed was when my wife and I would stand with our legs outstretched, me in the front, her in the back, and he would walk forward through them, turning around and emitting a short “bark,” resulting in a treat.

Noble had an internal clock as good as any Swiss timepiece.  He knew when it was time for his morning feeding (6:00 a.m.), walk (10:00 a.m.), afternoon feeding (2:30 p.m.), car ride (3:30 p.m.), and time for my wife to stop working in her home office (5:00 p.m.).  When those times occurred, he barked his head off like an annoying rooster. 

He had the largest barking vocabulary of any dog we’ve had.  His barks, which occurred more when he was happy than when he was sounding an alert, would come in two rapid back-to-back alerts, characterized by volume and pitch. 

• Reacting to people and dogs he saw through the front room window = high volume, high pitch
• Going for a walk = low volume, low pitch
• Going for a ride = high volume, low pitch
• Getting his afternoon feeding = loud volume, high pitch; more like a “woof-woof”
• Chasing squirrels = high volume, high pitch (non-stop)
• Hiding in the house = low volume, high pitch

Noble would play hide and go seek.  You read that right.  He would find a hiding place in one of the bedrooms, squeezing his 60-pound body underneath a desk and behind a chair, or on the far side of our bed.  Then he would bark so we would know where to find him.  Once we turned on the light and made eye contact, he bolted towards the laundry room, waiting for his reward.  He had us wrapped around his little paw.

By far his loudest and most guttural bark was when he went for a ride in the car.  I would ask him, raising the volume on the word “ride,” “Do you want to go for a RIDE in the car?”  His eyes would light up and he’d paced rapidly until I pulled out the car from the garage.

My wife would hold him back, then release the screen door as I hurriedly shuttled from the driver’s seat to the passenger rear door, timing it so I arrived before he sprinted into the car.  Often his momentum would carry him on top of the bench seat.  As he got older, I’d have to give him a boost on his tush to get him up.

As soon as I drove the car down the driveway with both rear windows all the way down, the barking would cease, and his snout would be out, ears flapping in the breeze.

It was only 10 minutes a day, but Noble lived for that ride in the car.

Once I retired in 2020, Noble was literally by my side at home.  He kept his eye on me and my movements.  I’d get up from the couch and go to the kitchen; he did the same.  I took a shower in the bathroom; he’d lie down outside the door waiting for me.

As Noble got older and had difficulty with his weak rear legs, whenever I had to get up to do something, I’d rush back so he didn’t have to rise up to see what I was doing.  I didn’t want him to budge from his comfortable Fibonacci-like circular position.

On the last day of his life, when we were transporting him to the vet, I couldn’t get him up onto the car seat.  Miraculously, during the drive, using only his upper body, he found the strength to pull himself up and put his head out the window one last time.

I was a little surprised at how emotional I got holding Noble, watching him and hearing him snore a bit as he drifted away. I told my wife, “I don’t want to have another dog” knowing full well as those words spit out of my mouth that I truly didn’t mean that.  I cannot imagine my life without having another dog.

Is it worth having a pet knowing the pain that will eventually come when they die?  Absolutely.

The thing about a pet is that you have to accept the terms of the agreement.  You receive years of unconditional love, but will have to see that pet die.

Imagine if children lived short lives.  Would people stop having children because of the intense pain of losing them? 

Think about parents with terminally ill children.  Even knowing they will outlive their kids, every one of them echoes the same sentiment:  I wouldn’t trade those few years for not having the child in the first place.

Life has joys and tragedies.  Without the sadness, there is no gladness.  Joy comes from moments that don’t last forever.

Noble enriched our lives close to 13 years.  Why deprive oneself from years of joy? 

Hall of Fame Dodger broadcaster Vin Scully described life best when talking about the status of injured baseball players.  He would say that so-and-so is listed as “day to day.”  After a pause, he would add, “Aren’t we all.”

When both of our sons left home for the first time last year—one for a job, the other for college—people would tell us, “You’re now empty nesters.”  However, that wasn’t accurate for we still had Noble.  Now, we are truly empty nesters, our house empty of dog pillows, dog food, pull toys, and lots of staring and barking.  Our hearts may be broken, but our memories are full.