Ode to Dr. Watson

As Jon Stewart said in his video tribute to his best boy Dipper, "My hope for you is that one day you find that dog; that one good dog. It's the best."

Watson came into our lives in early 2011, born in 2010 – a momentous year. Jay and I also got married and bought our first house that year.

I told my manager at Sprint that as soon as Watson came home, I would need two weeks off for "bonding." I watched him for hours every day. I was in love with him the minute I met him. Then, I heard him howl. He was tiny and still had the world’s biggest beagle bay that literally took my breath away. His voice was strong, powerful, forceful and, most of all, soulful. Just like him.

Coworkers in Kansas would tell me stories of their beagles growing up – lots of them had hounds. Everyone at work knew Watson. I couldn’t stop talking about him, sharing stories, showing pictures and posting incessantly on Facebook. They would tease me, but I didn’t care. He. Was. The. Best. Dog.

As he got older, his bay would become more melancholy. He'd wait for me in our yard, looking through our side gate, on my in-office days. He would bellow when my car pulled into the driveway – like, “Thank God, you’re home, all is right in the world.” All of Eagle Rock could hear him. I never told him to be quiet on those days.

He was my protector. He kept his eye on me while I worked. Eventually, he would set up shop under my desk and snore while I sat on video conferences and calls throughout the day. He didn’t care about the media hits, challenges or successes – he just wanted his dinner on time. In fact, he whined outside my office door during my virtual job interview with Southern California Edison (SCE) because it was taking place during his feeding time. The VP asked, “Is that a dog I hear?” (A dog lover herself...) I said matter-of-factly “yes” ... not wanting to interrupt my interview rhythm and kept talking. He understood. He didn’t hold it against me. He got a big bowl of food and treats after we finished.

He was a circus clown in agility. He was an ace student in nosework. He failed obedience (no one told him when to "sit") and couldn't hack therapy dog classes (he was expected to ignore a plate of Trader Joe's meatballs, c'mon). He was a star in a Sprint video (or two or three). He was my T-Mobile COVID shutdown buddy with his little frenemy Smokey (someone at T-Mobile even made me a sticker with his face on it – in Magenta of course). But, most of all, he was my prince.

He was there when my mom died – he even came into the hospital and visited her in ICU, with physician consent. He consoled me, just by being by my side.

He hated fireworks.

He loved hot dogs. Beagles shut down their ears when they are on the trail of something, so it’s important to develop a word with an association of something they love. Hot dogs did the trick – Hebrew Nationals, to be precise.

He was stoic and independent, as hounds can be – until the end, he was his own dog. ?

Jay and I gave him his last hot dog on Aug. 1. Watson gave us so much. We were so lucky to know and love him.

Good night, sweet prince.