Last Wednesday was the one year anniversary of one of our most profoundly sad days—when we said goodbye to Archie.
I haven’t written about it for a lot of reasons. It is so painful, as much today as a year ago. And he was so incredibly perfect that there was and is no way to adequately honor his little soul. We have endured a lot of loss in the last five years, and losing both Walter and Archie within seven months of each other has been unbelievably devastating. We lost half of our little family. So writing these little tributes has gotten more and more difficult for me.
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Archibald Mortimer Bruce Leroy Witwicky was born on September 3, 2009. We called him our Clearance Bin Puppy because he was a return. He went by “Mortimer” when he was in trouble, but “Archie,” “Tiny Dog,” “Little Man,” “Archie Pants,” “Monkey,” and “ArchiePotamus” the rest of the time. We were told he was not a “kissy” dog, which was a felony-level misrepresentation. He gave more kisses in his lifetime than forty dogs, combined… and he was often aggressive about it - sometimes shooting them up our noses. They were gross and perfect at the same time. But we loved them so much that we would do “Team Archie” kisses, where we both kissed him at the same time. Pretty sure it was his favorite.
When we brought him home, he was just a ball of black puffy fur - it was hard to tell the front from the back. He looked like a tribble. During his first year, he was such a hellion that he earned the nickname “The Kraken.” There was no roll of toilet paper, nor box of Kleenex, that was safe from his reign of terror. He would even try to eat my hair. He was always going, and rarely rested. He was incredibly smart: he was quick to potty train, and learned catch, sit, down, beg, speak, high-five, and roll-over. He also learned to shake, and I would say “very nice to meet you, yes it is,” which he absolutely hated. Unfortunately, his pride kept him from performing like a circus monkey, and one day, he decided he would never do a trick again. He knew that I knew that he knew the tricks - and yet he refused. It was a battle of wills that lasted the rest of his life, and I lost every time.
We developed a lot of rituals. He would walk ahead of us into rooms, to make sure we were safe, like a tiny little army ranger. He would tuck us in with barks and roly-polies, and intermittent periods of standing on his head. He would bark at the world for reasons only he knew. He understood directions. He learned to take treatment from a human inhaler. He let me, and only me, hold him like a baby, and he was the only dog we’ve had who let me trim his nails and brush his teeth. If one of us was missing for too long, he was the first to investigate. When we wanted to pick him up, we’d tell him to “climb the arm,” and he would crawl up our arm and hold on with his paws. But if we moved him while he slept, he’d huff and go right back to where he was. When he wanted to be picked up, he would back into it. And I always embarrassed him when I sang to him.
He was so smart, bossy, demanding, and hilarious. And he had a wicked side eye.
Beto was his favorite. He also loved his grandma, apples and blueberries. And turkey from any sandwich. And steak! He brought Lucy out of her shell, and was forever devoted to Walter. When Walter was dying (unbeknownst to us), Archie also got sick. The emergency vet opined that he knew what was happening. Trixie, though, was Archie’s arch nemesis - and rightly so.
He was the our natural athlete. He had the fastest zoomies, and would bark bark bark while doing it. He loved running on the river beach in Astoria, but was not a fan of the ocean beach. When he ran, it was pure, unbridled joy.
He had the cutest little pod-like eyelids. A tuft of hair would always spring up in front of one of his eyes. His head was round like a tennis ball, and after his first haircut, he looked like Sputnik, like an orange on a toothpick. Mysteriously, he lost his two front bottom teeth, so his tongue would blep out on occasion. He had a fatty growth on the front of his chest and we would joke that his heart was just too big and needed more room.
As he aged, he lost his hearing. And his vision started to go. He had a number of health issues, as old dogs do, but we took him to the vet regularly to get an objective read on his quality of life. In the end, we think he had a brain tumor - but given his age, we were not going to put him through testing and treatment. Nonetheless, looking back, I feel like we held on too long. But those of us who have said goodbye know that there is never a perfect answer to that question. And I take solace knowing that we did everything we could do to make his final months comfortable and full of love.
He died on April 22, 2025. He gave us 15 years, seven months, and 20 days of unconditional love. Even though we knew the time was coming, it was terrible. We are lucky that we were able to say goodbye at home. He passed in my arms, being hugged by Beto and me. The process took longer, and I know it’s because he didn’t want to leave us. I hope he is up there with all of the ones who have gone before him. When Beto flew home on Thursday, a dog that was his doppelgänger was in the seat next to him. We want to believe it was a sign that he’s okay.
This wasn’t good enough for him, but it’s done, and the best I can do. The grief feels as acute and heavy today as it did then. I can’t imagine it will ever lessen. I knew our lives would dim without his constant love and spark, and they have. I sometimes wonder why we keep doing this to ourselves - but the truth is that I would always choose a lifetime of pain in exchange for sharing his life with him. He was the best thing that has ever happened to either of us, and we are so, so lucky. He was magic, and joy, and devotion, and love, and wonder incarnate. He had that spark - if you know, you know. We would do anything to have him back. We will always and forever be “Team Archie.” We will always and forever be heartbroken.
