Better to Have Loved and Lost

The English poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, famously wrote, “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” I was reminded of this truth on Saturday morning (June 18).

At 3 AM, my wife and I were woken by our dog, Sheppie. Sheppie was in the bathroom, stumbling around and bumping into things. She was disoriented and confused. Her eyes were twitching uncontrollably. Within an hour we had her at the emergency hospital for pets. The doctor wasn’t certain about the cause—perhaps a seizure or a brain tumor. Regardless, Sheppie wasn’t going to recover, and by 5 AM we had ended her suffering.

The rest of the day was spent in sadness and grief. Each time that I thought sadness might overwhelm me, I reminded myself of Tennyson’s words. And then I thought about the wonderful memories I have of Sheppie.

Sheppie had an uncanny ability to know when I was making meatballs for her. She would enter the kitchen, patiently waiting for her treat. I frequently walked her around the neighborhood. When she would see her harness in my hand, she would excitedly run to me. Other times, I would chase her around the back yard in a game of tag. When my wife was out of town, Sheppie would send her notes.

Sheppie enjoyed traveling. Last summer, she accompanied us on a road trip to California. Both Sheppie and I visited the Grand Canyon for the first time. She was speechless at the sight. In December, she went with us to South Texas to see whooping cranes for the first time.

Often when Sheppie and I were alone, she would ask me to sing to her. At least, that is how I interpreted the way that she looked at me. Her favorite song, which she named, was “The Puppy Frog Song.” The opening lines of the song went:

You’re a puppy dog,

Laying like a log,

Barking like a dog,

Croaking like a frog.

You’re a puppy, puppy frog.

Growing up, I had many dogs, but all lived outdoors and none ever asked me to sing to them. Sheppie was my first indoor dog, the first to tolerate my singing, and she renewed my love of canines. She made my life better, and I am grateful for the love that we shared.

To love is to value. We love the things that bring us happiness and joy. For me, Sheppie was one of those things.

Neither the attainment nor the retention of a value is automatic or guaranteed. When we attain a value, its loss, and the pain that ensues, is always a possibility. While nobody wants to experience the loss of a value, we must assume that risk if we want to truly live a happy, flourishing life. Life is about attaining values. To shun the pursuit of a value because we want to avoid the potential pain of its loss is to shun living. It is better to have valued and lost than never to have valued at all.

I miss Sheppie and her passing has left a hole in my life. But I am filing that hole with memories of her. Her passing is sad, but it is better to have loved her and lost her than to never have loved her at all.