Remembering Unix
Sixteen years ago. So long ago, yet the memory is still fresh.
We were living in Texas. The air was hot and humid. I had been using my lunch breaks to visit the animal shelter—not really intending to adopt, just curious. James and I had recently bought a home after renting for years, and we had talked about getting a dog.
James wanted a big dog for protection. I preferred something small—easier for travel, easier to carry.
Then one day during lunch, I met a puppy. The card said he was half Pomeranian, half Lab. There he was, golden brown with short hair, a beautiful black muzzle, and the most soulful puppy eyes—had big paws. I thought, Big paws mean big dog. That would check one of James’ boxes.
That little golden-brown pup was so lovable and playful. I went back the next morning—Saturday. We were scheduled to attend James’ nephew’s birthday party later that day. But first, I went quietly to the shelter to adopt that sweet puppy, telling James I’d meet him at the party.
I remember placing him gently on the front passenger seat. He looked so happy and curious on the car ride home, as if asking “Where are we going? I’m excited!”. And when I brought him into our house for the first time, he ran in like he had always lived there. He seemed to be smiling as those little legs moved.
I said to him, “Come on, we’ve got another place to visit.”
We drove to the birthday party. I surprised James with the puppy and said,
“Look— he has big paws! He’s going to be a big dog, James!” We’d later find out he was in fact a medium sized dog.
James smiled and loved him instantly.
Three days went by, and our new family member still didn’t have a name. We glanced at the bookshelf for inspiration and picked a title—Unix—the name of a programming language James was studying at the time.
That’s how our amazing dog got his name.
Life With Unix
Unix was our first “kid” before we had children. And he would get to see and protect all three of them—from birth, through the toddler stage, and into childhood.
We had so many adventures together. Unix traveled with us to the Gulf of Mexico, the Pacific Coast, and all the way up to Great Lake Superior. He stood on Mt. Blue Sky and saw the summit of the Rocky Mountains. He visited Mount St. Helens and crossed countless states with us.
Unix wasn’t the kind of dog who loved everyone right away. You had to earn his trust. But once you had it, his love was unmatched.
For that reason we never left him in a shelter or doggie camp. My mom watched him a few times, but otherwise, he came with us—on every road trip, through every move, every milestone.
He was an amazing protector, and the most loving friend.
That’s the beautiful thing about dogs. No matter what you’ve done or how you’re feeling, they greet you with unconditional love. They rub against your leg, nuzzle close, sometimes jump up (a habit that was hard to break until arthritis kept him grounded). But the love never stopped.
Saying Goodbye
After 16 fulfilling years, we had to make one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever faced. Unix’s back legs had become too weak to lift himself up. His condition worsened quickly. We knew it was time to say goodbye to our best friend.
There’s no way I could have done it alone. I was grateful James was with me. It only felt right that we were together in that moment.
We held him and watched our sweet boy take his last breath. It was heart-wrenching—I think the right choice but, one of the hardest things we’ve done.
I explained to my daughter that when we take dogs into our lives, we do so knowing we’ll likely outlive them. Dogs live shorter lives than we do—but in that span, they give us everything.
I came across a quote that stayed with me:
“Dogs are a chapter in our lives, but to them, we are their whole life”
Unix was truly one of a kind. He holds a special place in our hearts—one that can never be filled in quite the same way.
He was unique. He was ours.
And we were so lucky to have him.