Generally, my New Year’s resolution is not to make any resolutions. It’s a recipe for success, preferable to setting yourself up for failure by making resolutions you can’t possibly keep. However, this year, I made one resolution. I decided to confront my emotions and write a tribute to my late, loving, therapy dog Gus.
It has turned out to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Losing a 
dog is very painful. Losing a miracle worker like Gus is devastating. Eleven years ago, when he was an adorable puppy, a family rehomed him with us. All the mom said to me was “give him a good life.” Gus had a wonderful life beyond my expectations. Being part of it was an honor and a privilege. I am so grateful.
Whether comforting patients in the hospital, visiting a special needs camp, doing demos for “Dogs a Science Tail” at the California Science center, or meeting with an anti-bullying group from Compton, he never failed to reach people. When he stood on his hind legs and danced with a smile on his face, everyone smiled back. He had a warm energy that no one could resist, not even the Laker girls. He was a star.
A little over a month ago, something seemed off. On a Friday night, worried that Gus was constipated, we called the vet to ask what to do. When we said that his belly was distended, we were advised to take him to emergency. They kept him overnight and the next day, after several tests, gave us the heartbreaking news. He had a very large inoperable tumor in his abdomen. After much discussion, we knew that we had to say goodbye.
In tears, my husband Doug and I drove to the hospital and waited for him in a small room. After a few minutes they brought Gus in, tired, but his usual sweet self. We hugged and petted him. He took a treat from Doug. Then he came over to where I was sitting on on the floor and rolled over for his favorite belly rub. That was our last interaction.
Stanley and Henry have not been themselves since Gus has been gone. At first they seemed to be waiting for him to come back. When he didn’t return, their sadness was almost palpable. 
Gus was funny and the mischief maker. If my fanny pack was dragged across the room, I knew that Gus was the culprit. He was often the instigator in running and wrestling games with the other two but they were always gentle with him. He was such an integral part of the pack, it’s as if a piece of the puzzle is missing. I will never again see him cuddled against his big “brothers.”
One day, a few years ago, as Gus and I walked into Maddie’s Room, the surgical waiting area at UCLA Medical Center, a woman waved us over. She quietly shared that she’d seen us walk by twice that morning. The first time was when they were taking her husband to surgery. The second was right after the doctor had assured her that everything had gone well. In almost a whisper, she confided that as soon as she laid eyes on Gus, she truly believed she’d seen an angel.
On November 22, 2025, sadly, Gus crossed over the rainbow bridge and became a real angel. How do you deal with losing an angel on earth?
