Dexter

Late Monday evening Pacific time, June 8 2026, was when we lost our beloved dog of over 14 years, Dexter. He was a shining light in our lives, and I loved him more than anything in the world, except for my parents who still occupy the number 1 spot.

I wanted to write a few words about my feelings for him, and this whole experience while I’m still going through it — a record for my future self, and perhaps the handful others that chance upon this page.

Dexter was a jet-black pug, who started his life in Ukraine in early 2012. My parents (who live in the Middle East) had been thinking of adopting a dog, as the day I left for college drew ever closer. Around the time I started my first week in college (in India), they arranged a meeting to view Dexter, then a tiny, 4-month old little thing, and immediately decided to keep him.

My first time meeting him was a few months after he’d already been part of our family, and I still vividly remember his reaction to first seeing me. My dad had picked me up from the airport, while my mom was away at work, and he’d warned me to expect Dexter to jump out the door as soon as it opened — he’d apparently already developed a keen sense of being able to hear when my dad would unlock the door using his keys, and would frequently launch himself out the door, when the door was open wide enough.

Things played out almost exactly as my dad had said they would: as soon as the keys were in the door lock, and the process of unlocking the door had begun, we could hear him sprinting towards the door, slamming into it, and starting to scratch and sniff at the door — all in the space of a couple of seconds. The door opened, and Dexter immediately launched himself at my dad, sniffing his legs to figure out where he’d been, and demanding to be scratched. This whole time, neither my dad or I moved, as we were both waiting for him to notice me, and wanted to see his reaction. A few seconds later, his investigation done, Dexter took one look at me, and immediately ran back into the house. At first, I thought he was scared of me, but as soon as I stepped into the house, he ran back towards me, and sniffed my legs and luggage, with caution, to ensure that he could keep me in sight at all times in case I made a sudden move towards him. I didn’t want to spook him, so I moved slowly, and narrated my every move to him, in an attempt to gain his trust. My dad laughed at the scene playing out in front of him, and let me know where Dexter’s food, water, and toys were, and bade farewell to both of us since he had to return to work.

Neither Dexter nor I were expecting him to leave so soon, without letting us spend some more time together under his supervision to ensure that: 1. Dexter would not be upset or scared by this new presence in his home, and 2. That I would be able to handle taking care of him.

Since I’d never had a pet before then, I was not sure how often he needed to use the toilet, how to figure out if he was hungry or thirsty, or a million other things. After my dad left, Dexter and I both looked at each other for a couple of seconds. I then decided that I needed a drink of water from the kitchen, as a way for me to do something more than just stare at him. I stepped around him on the way to the kitchen, careful to give him a couple of feet of clearance, in case he decided to lunge at me (he has never done anything aggressive of the sort in his whole life, but I did not know that at the time), and made my way to the kitchen to get some water. The way over to the kitchen, and while I was drinking water, I kept my eye on him, and him me from a safe distance. In those moments, I could tell he was trying to figure out how I fit into his world — a temporary fixture, or a permanent addition; someone who would compete for resources (food, water, affection) with him, or something else. About 30 minutes of wary observation later, he came up to me, and gently sniffed me. I took this as a sign of trust, and scratched his head — I’d read up where dogs liked to be scratched best in preparation for this moment. From that moment on, both of us knew that we’d accepted each other, but I doubt either of us knew how long this bond would last.

If you sum the actual amount of time we’ve spent with each other in close physical proximity, it would probably add up to less than 6 months, over a 14 year period — once I moved out of my parents home, I only ever visited during school break, or when I could take a break from work. You would think that that’s not enough time to form a strong enough bond with someone, but you’d be wrong. It was a frequent joke amongst my friends and family, that Dexter had become the favored son in the family, replacing me, and the thought never really bothered me. It was impossible to not fall in love with the little guy. He was quiet, sensible, and very loving. He had a knack for converting people that were deathly scared of him (it was not common in Indian families, especially when I was growing up, to have dogs as pets), into his admirers. He had the distinction of being the only domesticated dog in our neighborhood, and thus would draw crowds of children and adults alike come up to pet him, and call out to him by name every evening, as he went out on his walks with my parents.

It really is remarkable how deep an impression he left in our lives. I have spent most of the last 14 years thinking about him multiple times a day, imagining how he’d react to a certain situation if he were with me at the moment. Every time I’d talk to my parents on the phone, I’d ensure that he got to hear my voice. My parents have probably taken thousands of photos of him over the years, and sent most of those photos to me, sending me on average a photo a day for the past 14 years.

Despite all of this time spent together, it’s impossible for me to feel like it was enough time. He slowed down noticeably the last couple of years of his life, and it was clear to us over the past 6-8 months, that we’d have to prepare ourselves to say goodbye to him at some point in the near future, but I cannot shake the feeling of having spent not enough time with him. Of not appreciating his time with us enough. I doubt that feeling ever goes away.

I think losing a pet is probably one of the most difficult types of pain to endure, and while I have been thinking about this day and how I’d feel when it happened, for a long time now, it hurts in ways I did not expect. And perhaps that’s the point.