Dear Mr. Zwickel,
A friend and fellow outdoorsman shared your April 19th Seattle Times piece about your wonderful friend Edison on their social media over the weekend, and I wanted to write, as I expect others have, to let you know how much your piece affected me — especially after you lost someone like Edison that you shared so many fantastic outdoor adventures with around our American west.
Your piece reminded me of a poem I once read in an animal hospital waiting room in San Diego about how humans and dogs are “trapped” together in this plane of existence where our lives intersect, imperfectly, for only a few years before their shorter lifespans inexorably draw to a close. It’s sad, of course, because we have to say goodbye to them and they are hopefully able to say goodbye to us. Even as their life, and our life together comes to an end, ours then goes on alone. That sense of loss and not being able to find one’s way is terribly profound.
This is a very human way of looking at it, but I was once told the short lifespan of dogs may be the reason they’re often so happy to see us — because they enjoy every moment when one day to us is like a week in their lives. Perhaps they understand that, perhaps not.
No matter where I am in my life I’ve always been struck by the mysterious connection between humans and dogs. I’m reminded of the wonderful dogs my family and I had when I was a kid, how they protected me without me even realizing it, how they were always there, always happy, always eager to play, until one day, years after I’d left home and moved on with my life, I learned they were gone. Even though they were with my parents and family at the end, I still hope they didn’t feel alone or were scared when they died. I hope they felt loved. Who will remember our dogs and their lives after we’re gone — and of course, by egocentric extension, who will remember us after we’re gone.
My wife and I have two shihtzus. They’re wonderful friends and companions, but not exactly outdoor dogs like Edison. But sometimes when we’re out walking, or late at night in a quiet corner of our house by a window, my younger shihtzu will howl during a full moon, or when she hears the faraway cries of coyotes, or when the mournful sound of a siren comes nearby. She howls, and like the Courtland Winslow Hunter and the Dog Star illustration I wonder what she remembers, who she cries to in the night, who she has connected with over the miles and planes of existence, who she senses but can never meet or touch.
Thank you again for sharing your story about your friend Edison, and all the wonderful photos — like rays of Pacific Northwest sunshine, all very special moments. Love the Alpine Lakes, love Mt. St. Helens.
All the best,
Tommy Hough
Jonathan Zwickel’s essay A Writer Looks Ahead to a Life of Adventures Without Man’s Best Friend appeared in the April 19, 2025, issue of the Seattle Times.
“Hunter and the Dog Star” illustration by Courtland Winslow, copyright © 2020.
Banner photo of Reggie at Mt. Tamalpais by Tommy Hough, copyright © 2017.
