This originally appeared as a Facebook post on November 11 2022.
Sixteen years ago, once we moved into our new house, we decided to get a dog. We’d picked out a yellow lab from a breeder in western Massachusetts, due to pick him up in early December, when the breeder called. He said they’d really come to love that pup and decided to keep him. We were at a swim meet in Vermont when we heard the news.
So I started calling every breeder I could find. After a lot of calls, one breeder — Linda Gebhardt — said, “if you like big goldens, I have one left.” I said we’d take him.
Two days later we went to visit. Linda led us out to a barn where a pen held eight or nine puppies. Along the back edge, one pup — the biggest one — wandered back and forth, bumping into the walls as if blind. “That’s your dog,” she said. I couldn’t believe how big his paws were.
Simba came home with us a few weeks later. Our kids loved The Lion King and he looked the part. I’ll never forget how happy we all were on the drive back from Connecticut — Simba in his crate, the kids talking to him the whole way.
Once home, he clearly had trouble seeing. I called Linda and she offered to take him back if he was indeed blind. It turned out he was so big he had extra skin around his eyes that the vet had to tack up with stitches for a few weeks, until he grew into himself.
Simba became such a truly incredible dog for us. There is a wisdom about him that escapes proper description. In his prime he was very active and has always loved the beach. Nowadays he struggles to get up off the floor and sleeps a lot. He’s still mischievous and bold — the other day, when I wasn’t looking, he popped up and finished my steak dinner. Most of all, he has been an incredible companion. A steady presence in a constantly changing world.
I sometimes wonder what he must have felt as a puppy in that pen — hearing and smelling the families that came and went, claiming his siblings one by one. I like to think he felt so happy when we found him, when we took turns holding him, and brought him home that winter.
Sometimes the greatest gift appears unexpectedly as the last pick of the litter.
— Pete
Notes arrive on Sundays and some Wednesdays
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