Margaret Whitford

Gilbert and Annie, my husband Tom’s and my Jack Russell terriers, came into our lives as puppies. They were both strong-willed, energetic, and highly intelligent. I always thought that we negotiated with rather than trained them.

This proved to be especially true of Annie, as she joined our family ten months after Gilbert’s arrival. Instead of looking at us when we tried to offer any kind of instruction, she would look at Gilbert as if to ask if he thought we were credible.

In the end, we learned more from them than they did from us.

When Dogs Bring Love Into the Spaces We Don’t Expect

Our Jack Russell Terriers joined our family when we were trying and failing to have a child. They filled a void for us, one we had not truly acknowledged. Even after ending treatments for infertility, we still hoped for the miraculous. And instead, we got a puppy and then a second puppy, and they introduced something magical into our lives.

Because we had dogs of the same breed and less than a year apart in age, we had the chance to observe the ways in which their personalities differed independent of the breed characteristics they shared. Sometimes I joked that they were like Felix and Oscar from The Odd Couple, the 1970s sitcom.

Gilbert was fastidious; Annie was messy. Gilbert could not be rushed; Annie could not be restrained.

Walking with Gilbert was like strolling with an obsessive naturalist. He lingered over patches of moss and grass and investigated every rock; nothing escaped his notice. Whenever I let Gilbert set the rhythm for our excursions, I found myself enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, the enchantment of clouds moving above my head, the caress of a soft breeze.

He understood something about the natural world I hope to comprehend. Certainly, his exquisite sense of smell sensitized him to the story the landscape tells, but perhaps it would also speak to me if I would pause long enough to listen.

The Joy of Two Dogs With Very Different Spirits

In contrast, Annie always insisted on being the first one out the door, straining at her lead. Walking her was like exercising a moth, as she flitted from one spot to the next. She’d pause for a moment to check whatever occupied Gilbert and then move on. Her enthusiasm did not wane with age, even as her capacity for long walks did. Annie was always ready for adventure. It is a leaning into joy I would like to emulate, especially as I grow older.

Because of her vigor and assertiveness, in another family, Annie might have been the dominant dog. Instead, Gilbert held that position, probably because he had arrived first and was a bit older. Annie occasionally challenged him, especially when they were quite young, but the hierarchy remained the same. I thought that would change as Gilbert grew more frail with age and also developed canine dementia. Had Annie attempted to dominate him, she would have succeeded. But she never tried. Instead, she grew more protective of Gilbert.

When they were both outside and ready to come into the house, she would not leave Gilbert behind. She’d watch until she saw him on the path their steps had created in the grass. Sometimes she’d urge him on in the language of yips they shared.

Later, when he no longer knew exactly where he was physically, he would sometimes settle himself on top of her. She never complained, just moved over to give him room.

Annie taught me about compassion.

What These Special Dogs Taught Me About Compassion and Love

Unlike our child, who would have become independent eventually, Gilbert and Annie remained dependent on us all their lives. No one had to love or even like them, except us, though many people did. We could ensure that they both knew only kindness. As a result, they approached everyone with the expectation of being welcomed.

Occasionally, I could see the world through their eyes, and doing so made me kinder.

Tom and I were blessed by being witnesses to the arcs of our dogs’ lives. We loved them as puppies, irrepressible adolescents, adult dogs, and into old age. Gilbert left us in his sixteenth year and Annie in her nineteenth. They both died because we honored the implicit promise we made to them when we first brought them home: to protect them from suffering.

I miss them both and imagine I always will. I didn’t think about that particular kind of grief when I first fell in love with these amazing creatures. Looking back, I realize that the grief of losing them—given the likely trajectory of their lives compared to my own—coexisted with my love for them.

Had I known how painful their absence would be, I could have tried to love them less. But that would have been the wrong choice. That may be Gilbert and Annie’s most profound lesson about how to live. If you protect yourself from grief, you diminish your capacity for love.

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My memoir, “The History We Carry: A Daughter’s Memoir,” will be released in June 2026 by SheWritesPress.

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