On November 6th, 2025, we said goodbye to our dog, Howler.
Even now 9 months later, as we’re getting used to his absence, writing those words feels strange.
For twelve years, Howler was everywhere.
He was the first thing I dealt with every morning and usually the loudest thing in the house. He had opinions about meal times, walk times, visitors, squirrels, and whether we were paying enough attention to him. We built a lot of our life around that dog. The first thing I did every morning was feed him and take him for a walk. The sound of his paws, his bark, and his opinions about everything became the soundtrack of our days.
And if you knew Howler, you know he had plenty of opinions.
Loud, Demanding, and Completely Loved
For twelve years, Howler was LOUD and DEMANDING, and we loved him for it.
He barked at visitors. He barked at squirrels. He barked because he wanted attention. He barked because he wanted food. Sometimes it felt like he barked simply because silence was unacceptable.
He also had a remarkable gift for communication.
His eyes could tell you exactly what he wanted. His ears gave away every thought. And when barking wasn't enough, he had a signature move we called "grumping". A series of dramatic noises that somehow communicated frustration, disappointment, and indignation all at once.
He was smart, too.
When Tiffany and I got Howler, he was our first dog together as a couple. Looking back, I didn't fully appreciate how intelligent he was.
Tiffany trained him incredibly quickly. He learned how to beg, play dead, spin, roll over, and ring a bell when he needed to go outside. We gave him puzzle toys and he solved them with ease. We hid treats around the house and he tracked them down with his nose like a professional detective.
He also learned something even more useful.
How to train humans.
Howler discovered that standing near the treat station and staring intensely would eventually cause somebody to give him a snack.
The strategy worked far more often than it should have.
Adventures, Parks, and Destroyed Toys
Before we moved to New Jersey, we took Howler everywhere with us around Seattle.
His favorite place in the world was Magnuson Dog Park.
If you've ever been there, you know why. Over 8 acres of trails, water access, endless smells, and countless dogs to meet. For Howler, it was paradise.
At home, he approached toys with the same enthusiasm he approached life.
His goal was never to play with a toy.
His goal was to completely destroy it.
New toy? Gone.
Stuffed animal? Eliminated.
Anything left unattended in my wardrobe? Potentially at risk.
He lived with enthusiasm, commitment, and absolutely no concern for property damage.
A Life Built Around a Dog
When someone has been part of your life for over a decade, you don't realize how much space they occupy until they're gone.
We have dog beds throughout the house. Thirteen of them. Most belonged to Howler.
Our schedules revolved around him. Meal times revolved around him. Walks revolved around him.
Even our other dogs followed his lead. Eventually we realized Howler's younger sister Harley didn't really know how to communicate many of her needs. She simply watched Howler and copied whatever he did.
Howler ran the household. Every day he reminded us when meals were approaching, usually about an hour earlier than necessary. He kept everybody on schedule and made sure no one forgot their responsibilities.
Especially feeding him.
Caring for Family
Howler spent much of his life dealing with severe allergies.
Over the years, Tiffany carefully figured out what foods triggered painful flare-ups and what he could tolerate. Eventually we landed on an expensive hydrolyzed diet that kept him healthy and comfortable.
If he ate the wrong thing, his ears and paws would become inflamed and covered in painful rashes.
Managing it wasn't convenient.
But it was never a question.
You do those things for family.
The Final Months
In his final months, endocarditis and kidney failure slowly began taking things away from him.
The dog who loved food stopped eating.
The dog who loved walks could no longer walk more than a few feet before collapsing.
The dog whose bark filled the house grew quiet.
Tiffany and Dr. Dourmashkin at UPenn Vet built a strict care routine of medications, tube feedings, and constant monitoring.
Because Howler lost so much weight, he struggled to stay warm. We bundled him in sweaters and took him through the neighborhood in a stroller so he could still experience his favorite routes.
He couldn't walk them anymore. But he could still smell them. He could still see them. He could still enjoy them.
What struck me most was that even as his body failed, his eyes remained sharp and aware. His personality never disappeared. The spark was still there. The determination was still there.
He was still Howler. And that's what made saying goodbye so difficult.
Drawing Through Grief
In the weeks after Howler passed, I found myself struggling with a feeling I wasn't prepared for.
The house was quieter. The routines we'd built around him were suddenly gone. Every room contained a reminder of what was missing. His dog beds that we didn’t put away.
As an artist, my instinct is often to create when I'm trying to understand something. But grief felt different. I wasn't trying to make a product or finish a project. I was simply trying to process the loss of my best boy.
During that time, my friend and mentor Dougie, the artist behind the Gallery of Nightmares and Shadowmyths, offered a simple piece of advice.
"Draw him."
Not for a commission. Not for social media. Not to sell. Just draw him.
So I sat down with a pencil and began sketching. I studied the shape of his face, the way his ears dropped, the expression in his eyes, and all the little details I'd seen thousands of times over the years.
As I drew him, I found myself smiling and remembering him. The way he greeted us at the door. The way he demanded treats. The way he somehow managed to communicate entire conversations with a look.
Drawing him didn't erase the grief. But it transformed it. For a little while, I wasn't focused on the end of his story. I was focused on his life.
Those sketches became some of the most meaningful pieces of artwork I've ever created. Not because they were technically impressive. Because they reminded me that art can do more than create beauty.
Sometimes it helps us carry love after loss.
Why I created Howler’s Memorial Pin
Those drawings were never meant to be sold. They were something I needed to create for myself.
But after spending time with those sketches, I realized I wanted another way to keep Howler close. Something tangible. Something I could carry with me on my jacket or my backpack. Something that could honor the dog who shaped so much of my life.
That idea eventually became Howler’s Memorial Pin.
Creating artwork inspired by a beloved pet won't erase grief, but it can give that grief somewhere to go.
I've spoken with many people who have lost dogs, cats, and other animal companions over the years. Many have memorial tattoos, framed portraits, favorite photographs, paw prints, collars displayed on shelves, or keepsakes that help them remember.
Memorial art serves a similar purpose. It transforms remembrance into something visible and something lasting. It’s a way to celebrate a life instead of only mourning a loss.
For me, this pin became a small tribute to a very big presence in my life.
Goodbye Friend
I choose to remember Howler as he was. Bright. Bossy. Demanding. Funny. Loud.
A greying snoot with endless puppy energy. The dog who greeted me at the door with a toy in his mouth while howling. The dog that lived up to his name.
Nothing prepares you for losing family. Howler was family.
More than that, he was a reflection of our love, our patience, and our care. He was our companion through thousands of ordinary days that became extraordinary simply because he was part of them.
Goodbye, Howler.
We love you.
You were one of a kind.
And we miss you with everything we have.
Acknowledgments
We are deeply grateful to everyone who supported us through Howler's final months.
- Karen Patton, for helping watch over Cookie and Harley while we focused on Howler's care.
- Stefanie Borys, for the flowers on Howler's final day.
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Kennley Dearth, for the cute drawing of Howler flying in the clouds.
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Shaunna Lam and Shea Zubair, for the wood-burned ornament of Howler.
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My Woolever Friend, for the incredible wool portrait of Howler.
- Barbera Ploeg, for the shamanic healing.
- Dr. Dourmashkin and the team at UPenn Vet, for doing everything possible to help him during Howler's last months.
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Dr. Kaplan and the team at Voorhees Veterinary Center, for helping us care for Howler throughout his later years.
- Every friend, family member, and stranger who reached out with comforting words after his passing.