Eleven years ago, my friend Alexa took in a shivering, starving puppy in the middle of a Texas thunderstorm. She named him Othello, and he grew to become one of the most gentle, loving dogs I have ever known. Othello followed Alexa throughout a marriage, moving from Texas to Virginia, a divorce, moving from Virginia to Oregon, back to Virginia, up to Maryland (and then another move within), and finally back to Texas. He’s seen Alexa through eight different jobs, and two domestic partners. He’s probably been through more states in this country than my neighbors. His feet smelled like popcorn, and his ears like grapes.

The first thing I noticed about him was his crazy eyebrows. I nicknamed him Samuel Clemens, and it stuck. He loved to run around the couch in my house in Oregon, we’d all throw our hands up and shrill, “VICTORY LAP!” and he’d tear off another one. He tolerated everyone: fellow rescuee Kodi the Great Pyranees, who peed on everything and tried to blame it on Othello; Fucker McCloud (my naming), the shitbag cocker spaniel we fostered; Higginsbottom, the rash-begotten French Bulldog; and even Porter and Rosie.

About three years ago he had a grapefruit-sized cancerous tumor taken out of his abdominal wall. It was an expensive and scary procedure, and thanks to the love and generosity of a good friend and Alexa’s partner of the time, O Monster pulled through. However, I think the combo of his bad start as a puppy and the cancer aged Othello rapidly. Alexa said that he’s been even more stiffly-jointed than normal, to the point of wincing and complaining when getting up or lying down. Things took a worse yesterday, and Othello had lost some of his muscle control and was disoriented and in pain. He was unable to walk reliably on his own, and had no power over his bowels. Alexa was afraid the cancer was back.

It might seem odd that I’m writing a eulogy for my ex’s dog. My close friends and I have one thing in common: we don’t fit in amongst people. We are an outfit of misfits. We count few friendships, and fewer still have survived the turbulent lives that we lead. Othello and I would lie on the floor and watch Dexter’s Lab while I rubbed his feet. He didn’t care that I’d just lost my job after buying a house I could barely afford, panicking on the inside. He’d give me that lazy half-wink, like there were better things to think about than foreclosure. He sat next to me for over a year, while I worked from home and scrambled to make ends meet. When I was sick, he would cuddle me in bed. When I was sad, he’d fly about with his victory laps. I’d smile at him, and he’d smile back, his mouth stretched back so far you could see every one of his gentle teeth. I loved him, and he was a good friend to me.

I’m going to miss you, O Monster. It’s not fair that we love our animal companions so much, yet have to see them suffer. You brought a lot of joy to a lot of people.