Curtis Loew

You looked into my eyes, came forward

Pressed your forehead into my breastbone and 

the world went still and fell away

And with it, any doubt that

You were coming home with me.

You stood on my bag so I couldn't leave the shelter without you.

You also used the full power of mind control.

Feburary 19, 2019, CHA Animal Shelter, Columbus

You'd been chained near Gallipolis

the first four years of your life

and when you got loose, you chased four-wheelers

Fought with other dogs, ran like a deer.

No chains from now on. Not even a leash. 

Curtis, you won the lotto. But. 

If you wanted your freedom

you had to come home. That was the deal. 

I had to trust you. You had to come home.

First a bell, then a tracker, and we settled in. My hair went gray.

Three hours was my limit. Sometimes, five. 

And then I'd suit up and come find you, sometimes hurt, always sore

But living the life you deserved and most wanted, at last.

A leaner, a hugger, a wagger

Deeply loving, never overbearing

Clean and quiet, barking only on the chase.

Not much for toys, you played with rabbits, coons, 

and once a bobcat, who raked your side and drenched you in piss.

One year, you grabbed four skunks, perfecting your hold.

I gave you these woods, these fields

Good food, warm beds. You led us through grief

with your solid body and velvet ears,

the steady gaze of your chestnut eyes. 

The soft curl of you by my side in the mornings

Toenails on the stairs, then the whump of your landing on the bed.

Six years, six months and twenty-two days were not enough by half.

But I got what I got. Cancer made the call.

My house is empty and I am gutted

Barely quelling the rising howl each time I look

and find you gone.

Curtis started coughing around Thanksgiving 2024. His guts had been a mess for a few years by then, and no fancy food or probiotic could touch it. On July 2, a nasty-looking chest X-ray sent us to MedVet Columbus,  where he was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. Rare in dogs, and untreatable, they said. 
Oh, I said. So this is how it ends. So soon. 

We recalibrated our hopes, begged the cosmos for time to get us through Phoebe and Óscar's wedding on July 26. We told no one, kept working like mules through our grief to build the happiest day of their lives. If that sounds backward and hard, well, it was. God knows, there is enough sorrow in this world, and we wanted our guests to see and greet him as well and whole. So we held it all in. For them, and for him. That boy hung in there, wore a laurel collar, and, as the only man in my life, walked me down the aisle. 

Then, the slow fade, the growing grief, the knowing, and the end. If wildlife rehabilitation has taught me anything, it's knowing when an animal is finished. 

September 12, 2025 Photo by Shila Wilson.

My friend Mike came and hand-dug a grave by the mistflower at the end of the orchard, where he loved to sit and look into the woods, where he'd stop, look back at me, and pose, knowing how magnificent he was. A dog should know he is magnificent, and loved beyond measure. He was, and he is, forever.

Curtis Loew

December 1, 2015-September 12, 2025