Reba left the other day...

06 Dec, 2025

...Char texted me today saying Reba had died on Wednesday. 💔

She was 15 when I got to really know her, earlier this year when I'd house- and dog-sit for my friends, so Reba had that quality that all elderly dogs have — a kind of sage, knowing, wisdom: this is life, I have lived it fully, and all is well.

I'd known about Reba for some years now; I'd see photos of her on Instagram running with Charleen, or being walked by Richard, or in the background watching Rich play yard soccer with Lorien. Knew that she was a deeply loved family member.

So as Lorien is now away at college, and R & C needed to be on business trips from time to time, they called on me to come stay with Reba and Ari the midnight black cat, and I was delighted to do so. Here's something I scribbled on my Notes app one time (the note itself titled "Reba's world")...

As we pass a glorious magnolia tree in the throes of early autumn and shedding its leaves, Reba pauses to investigate the leaf litter, individual leaves of which look to me like the most beautiful shade of irridescent orange-brown-sienna as if I see these colors for the first time, matching as they do the dog's mottled coat. It's not a very long walk, as the toll of her years suggests a slowing down of her gait, a tender somnolence that she has somehow conveyed to me in the shape of her movements.

I loved how the brown of Reba's coat blended in with the magnolia leaf litter that she was closely inspecting...

While already a bit hard of hearing, her sense of smell seemed as acute as ever, as she navigated the world of her neighborhood with keen attention and a delight born of familiarity; now a bit more slowly than when she was a pup, yes, but by these days she certainly had earned that stately pace.

Back in the living room, I'd watch her sleeping or watching me, and it was about the most relaxing thing to do ever. I'd kneel zazen on the living room rug, softened by years of feet and paws padding on it back, forth, here, there, nowhere, everywhere as, inevitably, a Hobbit song emerged in my untangled synapses and, even with closed eyes, still noticed the dog watching my stilled face intently, as if seeing what I am seeing: the stopping of time itself, like that one time I rose up from the middle depths of a Maui coral reef to air and oxygen, only to feel infinity in a moment of organic grace.

Made me wish I'd had a Reba of my own to walk, sit, and dream through life with...

My dear friends are wrecked with grief. I know it will stay a while, the pain slowly dissipating over time, but the sense of loss will always be there, as it always is for any dearly beloved family member.

I'm wondering what it is with dogs and seizures these days; just in the span of this past year I know of 3: Fed's goldendoodle Finley, at a tragically young 4 years; my brother Nate and sis-in-law Mimi's ChingChing (a Pinoy mongrel street dog), a bit past middle-age at 10 or so; and now, Reba. After some months of this condition, initially held in check with meds, this seizure a couple days ago, ongoing and agonizing for the dog mom and dad despite the emergency care, proved to be the last.

All that is left of Reba for Richard, Charleen and Lorien are memories; but oh what treasures they must be...

That joyful pic above right is from the door of the train I'd hopped on, leaving back for San Francisco one cold night earlier this year.

Walking home from work yesterday afternoon, stood in the middle of a field of grass at Moscone Playground, FaceTiming with Richard and being with him in his profound grief. After, started walking again, and passed a baseball pitch, and saw foot- and paw-prints on the exquisitely manicured infield dirt... someone had been walking their dog there earlier.

Beset with a sudden vertigo of sadness, walked over to the bleachers to sit and weep from afar for my friends. And for their dear Reba, who is now only a set of invisible pawprints in the swept earth of their hearts. Texted them...

She will always and forever be a part of your heart, Richard and Charleen, and of your life’s story… and what better gift and blessing that was, from her, there is none. Our curse is to live after they’ve gone. We bear it, with great sadness, as we must.

You will be terribly missed, dear Reba Marie White.